


In which they Holiday

by Writer_47



Series: Nurture [3]
Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25900660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writer_47/pseuds/Writer_47
Summary: #3)  Follows on from 'Yacht' and 'In which Gerri thinks about Age'.   Gerri and Roman take their first (well-deserved) vacation together.Chapter 5 - all good holidays must come to an end...unfortunately.
Relationships: Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Series: Nurture [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1883719
Comments: 41
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**> You’re late bitch! Hurry up!**

**> Some asshole left me a mess to clean up – I wonder who that might be…**

**> Plane is leaving without you**

**> Suck my balls!**

He’s still laughing at that when her car finally pulls up and the crew hurriedly stow her luggage. She’s dressed for Winter in New York – it’s around 86 Fahrenheit in their destination.

“You’re wearing a shawl!”

“I’ve been working all morning, it’s freezing out.” She throws her handbag onto a seat (the gifted Prada one he notes), “And hello to you too.”

“Hi,” he waves, he’s lounging in one of the white leather chairs, a drink in one hand, his feet up on the coffee table.

“Thanks so much for dumping me with Karl today, could you not have finished that up before you left last night?”

“Didn’t realise you’d be going in today.”

“You said the flight wasn’t until two, so I figured I might as well. Do I get a drink, or do I have to fix it myself?” She’s standing with her hands on her hips and he amuses himself by swinging his own glass back and forth, fixing her icy glare with one of his own. “Roman, this is not the way to start our break.”

He laughs, downing his whisky and bouncing to his feet. “Martini, I’m assuming.”

“Thank you,” she unwraps her shawl, lays it on top of her bag, and sinks into the chair beside it across from Roman’s.

“I know how you like it by now,” he states, carrying it over, holding it over her as she holds her hand out. “Hey,” he says, hovering, gazing down at her.

She lifts her face up, lets him kiss her. “Hi,” before taking her Martini and closing her eyes at the first sip. “Bless the lord for alcohol.”

“So, was Karl riding your ass? That I would pay to see.”

“You're such a fucking pervert. He would have been riding yours instead, I had to put up with him cursing you to hell for leaving him with too much to do. He must’ve rung you twenty times.”

“I might have left my work phone at home.”

“Bollocks. You have at least three phones on you at all times.”

“Two.” He took them both from his jacket pocket, “On this one – work Gerri – she’s serious. On this one – pleasure Gerri – she’s pleasurable. She pleasures.”

“Fuck sake… I sound like I’m available for hire.” She takes another long drink, settles back as she feels the alcohol starting to work. “Seven hours?”

“Seven hours.”

She slips her shoes off, stretches her toes. “I might work for a bit, then sleep for a bit, that okay?”

“A-ha.”

“How you gonna pass the time?”

“Send crude messages to people who don’t like me, as per.”

“Useful. You could review those figures I sent you, read the report, send some feedback so the office can finish it up.”

“Fuck sake. My holiday starts now.”

“It starts in seven hours, technically.”

He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically.

“I promise tonight we can play like spoilt children and forget we have responsibilities.”

“I’m getting blind drunk and fucking your brains out.” He proclaims, stuffing his personal phone in his pocket.

“Nice. Might be interesting though, you maintaining an erection whilst blind drunk.” She finished her Martini, opened her work bag, took out her laptop.

“Don’t doubt your power, babe, you could get me hard whilst going through the finer details of an accountant’s ledger…” he is saying, but she hushes him as a crew member enters the cabin, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“Ready for take-off, madam, sir.”

“Thank you,” Gerri said.

Roman was only half-listening as Gerri ordered food and coffee, he suspected she’d skipped lunch, but he was more interested in her reaction to the possibility of the crew member overhearing their conversation. Clearly her driver knew by now that something was going on between them, but he’d been with Gerri for over fifteen years – he was loyal and silent. Nobody at the company seemed any the wiser. He’d gotten the odd loaded question from Shiv regarding his sudden vacation but otherwise everyone else put it down to him being a total moron when it came to picking the most opportune moment to desert the ship for two weeks.

“Question,” he said, as they coasted down the runway.

“Go on.”

“You think anybody knows yet, or suspects?”

She looked at him over the top of her glasses, chewing her bottom lip, “My assistant I’d say.”

“Which one you onto now – because you change them like I change socks.”

“I'm not running a fucking kindergarten, Roman. I can’t help that I have high expectations. Incompetence is tiresome.”

“You expect things done like that,” he clicked his fingers. "And this is some fine mood you've come onboard with. Cheers to that." He downed his drink.

She felt sorry, but didn't say it. “I expect that some 28-year-old can keep up with me, yes.” She sighed, glancing out of the window as the plane rose. “She wouldn’t say anything, she values her job.” She says non-committedly, as if she hasn’t been worrying about office gossip for weeks now. “You?”

He shrugs, “Not really. Few friends made comments about who I’m taking here.”

“And you said?”

“A sexy blonde, as usual.”

She smirked, glancing at him, “Thanks.”

“We only managed two dates though; she’s proving highly elusive in the dating department.”

“There’ll be more. Did you expect front page of the New York Times after our first dinner?” She moved her laptop and leant forward for her salad.

“We did hold hands.”

“For all of three minutes,” she exclaimed, “maybe we’re not really the touchy-feely type.”

“Maybe. Maybe just need to, you know, get used to it.”

“Try harder?”

“Exactly. Perhaps there’s an entry level course I can take, learn how to date from the ground up, it’s served me well elsewhere.”

She smiled at that.

“Why you ordered salad?”

“You know why.”

He picked at the sandwich in front of him. “Yeah, but diet for holiday you said, not on it.”

“We’re not on it yet, I told you that. So food, then work for a while, then sleep so I’m wide awake later.”

“Fucking tease. You don’t wanna like, go a bit Rockstar style, snort some coke, fuck on every seat.”

“Not particularly.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugs, gazing out the window, “already done that anyhow so…”

“I can believe it,” she says, as if uninterested. She is waiting for another quip, but it doesn’t come. “No follow up? No scandalous comment?”

“Mm, no. Just a bit boring now isn’t it?”

“Perhaps, depends what you see as boring. Where you get your kicks.”

He’s thinking of Kendall; who his brother is when on drugs, who he is when he isn’t on them. “Never really been my thing, you know, drugs.”

She continues eating but gives him her full attention – he so rarely shares his feelings it’s interesting to watch how his mind works when he tries to open up.

“You know, I’m not saying I’m a fucking saint, but I noticed how… remember when you sent me on seduction mission, Eduard, white knight?”

“A-ha.”

“I did my thing how I do it.”

She suspected as much. He so rarely took the traditional route.

“He hands me his stash, you know,” she nodded, “and I just… well the point is I didn’t use it. I just…” he shrugged.

“Played the game?”

“Yeah. You know. Like he’s into it so I kinda was, but actually wasn’t, just, bit like a magic trick, distract them, quick hands.”

“Yes.”

“But I could have, easily, because it was that kind of place, environment, whatever. And after I kept wondering why.”

“Why you didn’t engage?”

“Or inhale,” he was spinning his phone in his hand, as if distraction took the focus away from what he was saying. “I didn’t want to get high.”

“Fair enough.”

“I wanted to do the job, nail the deal. But do so coherently.”

“That’s admirable.”

“And I wanted to come and see you.”

“Okay.” She sipped her coffee.

“Tell you I’d done a good job. Come across as compos mentis.”

“You wanted me to pat you on the head and tell you you’re a good little puppy?” She teased, remembering his eager face as he’d turned up at her door that night.

“Yeah. That’s fucking sad, right? Like, that wasn’t even close to Rockstar behaviour.”

“Depends on what you want to be a Rockstar in,” she put her cup down, stretched out her legs beneath the table. “Maybe you’ve had enough of being one in that type of world, maybe proving yourself now means doing so in the business sense. Listen, and don’t go revealing my secrets to anyone here.”

He raised his eyebrows, “If secrets were to be spilled there’d be naked pictures of you on the internet by now.”

She huffed at him, shaking her head, “What I mean is for me, it has always been about work. I get as much of a high when I nail a deal as I ever did when engaging in illegal highs.”

He stares at her for a long time.

“I can see the cogs whirring as you picture it, so let me say – it was a long time ago, and purely recreational.”

“And your family, you know, stuff like that.” He forgets she’s a mother sometimes, or chooses to, hard to believe her daughters are not that much younger than he. But then Logan was already an older man by the time he became a father for the second, third and fourth time.

“Well, let’s just say I was never very good at all that.” She shrugged. “But when you’re young you think it’s the thing to do, don’t you, get married, have babies.”

He nodded, as if he understood, but that whole package of normal life had passed him by. He returned to staring out of the window. “Never wanted to go down the Kendall route.”

“I see. I’m assuming we’re talking drugs not business?”

“Yeah. Older brother man, you look up to him, and…” he leant forward, spinning his phone on the table. “Shit. Sorry. Just, not sure how to say this.”

“That's okay," her tone is soft, it wraps around him like a cocoon. "Do you mean you felt let-down? When he didn’t turn out to be who you looked up to?”

He nodded, his attention back on her. “How’d you do that? Like fucking – read my mind.” He gestured at his head. “Better than all those useless fucks I’ve paid thousands to for interpretation.”

“Maybe I’m just older and wiser.” She tilted her head to the side, a gentleness to her face, “Or maybe I pay attention. Maybe I always have.”

“To me?”

She shrugged, “It pays sometimes to be silent. Sit in the background and watch. In a business sense its invaluable, read the room, scope the competition, plan your attack silently.”

“Fucking battleship stealth mode – I can see you’re into that.”

“Of course. But in other ways too, getting to know people, read people, requires paying attention.”

He shrugged his jacket off, suddenly feeling very warm. “I’m nobody to pay attention to.”

“Aren’t you?” She let the words hang, watching him carefully before adding. “You’re as valuable as anyone, Roman, and yeah maybe you’re just…” she shrugged, “cliché to say but ‘growing up’, perhaps…?” She offered him a smile. “Maybe business success can fill some gap somewhere, confidence?” She shrugs – she has wanted to point these things out for a while, but trying to find the moment to explain it without appearing condescending seemed impossible. She hoped in the end he would get there on his own.

He seems to dwell on these things for a while, goes silent, so she picks up her laptop and goes back to work. It’s a long time before he speaks again and returns to his usual scheduled behaviour.

“So,” he proclaims, clapping his hands together. “You wanna fuck doggy style on Dad’s seat?”

*

She wakes him as they’re landing, he feels disorientated, no memory of actually going to sleep but his face is pressed against the glass and feels flat and clammy.

She hands him a bottle of water, “Drink this, you’ll feel better by the time we get to the resort.”

He follows blindly down the steps, it’s dark and the air heavy with heat. In the back of the car he leans against her shoulder, sips the water, he thinks he can hear the sea.

“Shall we have dinner?” She asks gently, her hand coming to rest on his leg, “we could order to the villa or try the main place?”

“Yeah,” he answers and she leaves it at that, silence for the rest of the drive.

*

Their villa is someway along the beach, isolated and luxurious. As their bags are delivered she wanders through the open spacious lounge, the floor to ceiling windows lit up by the turquoise blue of the first of their three pools and beyond, the sea from every angle. There’s an outdoor covered dining area to the left, and she goes that way, outside to the lounge there – leaning against the spotlessly white armchairs.

“Not too shabby, right.” He is awake now, his usual energy returning, and he leans against her, chin on her shoulder.

“Very nice indeed.”

His arms are around her waist, hands on her stomach, and she covers them with her own as she surveys the view. A long infinity pool stretching forward from where they stand, another running alongside the front of the property. Ahead of them she can just make out the short jetty, another seating area for them out in the water, lit up golden and shining.

“I did good,” he says, moving her hair, kissing her neck.

“Yes, you did. I think I’m rather going to enjoy this.”

Now she’s there, she relaxes, allows herself to indulge in being flirtatious, warm and open with him. She turns, slides her arms over his shoulders and kisses him. No worries about who’s there. No concerns about being interrupted.

“So my phone is off for the night,” she says, “can we change and go have a romantic meal?”

He nods, though the use of ‘romance’ catches him a little off guard, in his head he likes to keep things neat and tidy, organised into little boxes and categories. The space she occupies in his brain continues to spread but romance usually means serious relationship and there’s never been a space for that.

She quickly showers, changes into a long flowing blue gown and refreshes her make-up. As they’re chauffeured along the beach to one of the main restaurants she reflects on the fact that only that very morning she was wrapping herself in shawls and scarves to stave off the icy wind, now they're in paradise.

*

There are six bedrooms and she wonders if perhaps some nights they’ll sleep in separate ones. She doesn’t foresee them arguing, for one she has no energy for that type of thing, but he might need his space, she hers. For now, they share the main one, a view of the ocean, its own private patio and a small square pool – which is where she finds him after she’s changed and removed her make-up.

She stands at the open doors, the night air blowing the light robe she’s wearing. He’s reclining, his head leaning back, eyes closed, and she wonders if he even knows she’s there. She knows he’s naked, and the freedom he has in regards to that type of thing is somewhat freeing to her too. There’s an open bottle of Champagne on the side, two glasses, and she contemplates for a moment just getting in bed because it’s very late and she’s very tired and she’s not sure she’s really in the mood for sex. But there’s something vulnerable in his expression that draws her in and before she really thinks about it she has dropped the robe on the bed and is stepping into the water.

At the movement, at the noise of the water, he opens his eyes, hooded as he gazes at her, and she doesn’t bother with sitting across from him on the opposite ledge, she moves directly into his space, between his legs and kisses him, long and slow. It takes him a while to respond, to lift his arms up and around her waist, a hand on the small of her back, the other on her hip.

To him time moves slowly, everything with him is fast, energetic – the fastest car, the next big adventure, and waiting for things seems ridiculous. So when he thinks they’ve been doing this for months now it seems an eternity.

To her, this is the slow build of their relationship, six months and there is still so much to learn and time to do it in.

But then, within six months his relationships usually go from marriage proposal to on the skids.

She looks down at him with an air of control and triumph, hands on his shoulders as she pushes herself forward and reaches for the Champagne, aware of how her breasts brushed his face as she did so. He takes the opportunity, places kisses on them, smooths his hands over her body, the silk of the water against the silk of her skin. It still surprises him how much he’s attracted to her – is it her beauty, her power? Solving the puzzle is part of the fun.

He watches her drink, watches as she leans back in his arms and pours the liquid down her chest, allowing him to lap at it like a kitten with a saucer of milk.

She laughs.

“Kind of a mood breaker,” he states, dragging his mouth over her nipple.

“I was just thinking in my entire life I have never once done something like that.”

He is smiling as he lifts his face to hers, brushing back her hair with both hands. “Kinda sexy though Gerri.”

“Hmm, so not my usual behaviour.”

“I like it,” he moves to stand, moving her slowly backwards until they’re standing in the middle. “You know, the kinds of girls I usually fuck…”

She rolled her eyes, “Girls!”

“Yeah. Girls.”

“Fucks sake,” she breathes, one hand still clutching the Champagne bottle, the other on his ass.

“They’re giving up the goods immediately, I’ve enjoyed watching you… _unfold_ …” he decides on, “I’m still enjoying it.”

“I don’t easily _unfold_ for anyone.” She says. “Very few people see the private me.”

“Then I’m part of some special club, and you know how I like to be part of the exclusive members.”

“You’re an asshole at times.”

He squeezes her body to his, “You love it!”

“Mmm…” she closes her eyes, tilts her head back, letting the warm sea breeze travel over her skin. “It’s so late, and I’m on New York time.”

“Yes,” he is still kissing her, swaying against her.

“Bedtime, I think.”

“We can do it here,” he mumbles against her neck.

“Do what?” she asks, eyebrows raised, “I had no plans.”

His eyes are wide when he looks at her, a familiar pout forming.

“And definitely no ejaculation in the pool.” She screws her face up as if disgusted.

“Ger –,” he starts to complain but she is pulling away from his arms, climbing out of the pool.

“You’ll have to wait.” She puts down the Champagne, puts her robe back on. “You can wait… can’t you?”

“This is some kind of kinky torture.”

“Exactly. Now, bedtime, come on, chop chop.”

“I might just hang out for a bit,” she turns to him, shoots him a withering look. “If you touch that dick then no sex tomorrow.”

He is smug, smirking as he climbs out of the pool so she can see exactly what’s she done to him.

“Empty threat.”

A batter of wills now.

“You won’t be able to resist.” His fingers curl around his erection.

“Two days.” She states coldly, arms folding.

“Cruel-dominatrix-wannabe-super-bitch.”

“Insult me again and it’ll be three.”

“It wasn’t an insult.”

Her mouth twists, desperate to laugh. “Think of something else for a moment other than your little ding-dong.”

“Like ponies and rainbows?”

“Like sleep after a 21-hour day.”

He does think about that for a moment – she gets up at 5:00, on the dot, every morning, earlier sometimes. He rolled around his bed until gone 10 and then had a leisurely breakfast prepared for him.

She has pulled back the duvet, is climbing in. “Are we sharing a bed?”

“Would you mind if we did?”

“Course not, I thought you might, especially if no sex.” She is settling down, he’s noticed she takes the right side of the bed, next to the windows, closer to the view. “Don’t worry you know, about me, if you need to sleep in one of the other rooms.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, but truth is when she’s there he doesn’t want to sleep away from her.

He stands under a cold shower for a long time, rinses the travel from him, considers jerking off anyway but the steel in her voice drills through his brain, and besides he figures she'll somehow know, as if she can smell it on him. When he goes back to bed she's already asleep, he tells himself he's not tired, fiddles on his phone for a while. But then he lies in the dark listening to her breathing, listening to the sound of the sea, and he falls to sleep dreaming of sinking into deep blue nothingness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of adult stuff here...

They both sleep late the following morning, but she still wakes and rises first. When she comes out of the bathroom he is naked and sleeping on his stomach at the far side of the bed, and he’s pushed the sheets all the way down to his feet. She is contemplating how to start her day as she watches him – order food or wake Roman Roy and make him fucking struggle.

She opts for the latter, because she can see the sun and the sea beyond their window and she feels deliciously decadent and free.

Tiptoeing around the room she picks up the bottle of Champagne they had abandoned the night before and returns to bed with it, silently leaning over him and dribbling it down his back.

He slips awake, at first reaching round to rub at the tickle of the liquid as it washes over his skin. Then she tips it on his neck and he jolts.

“What the fuck?!”

“Just you be glad it isn’t candle wax,” she hisses by his ear. “Now wake up and turn over.”

He does so, immediately clearing his head of dreams and sleep as he soaks in her voice.

“You started something last night,” she says, laying back on propped up pillows. “And you didn’t finish it.”

“You wouldn’t let me.”

She holds up her hand, “I didn’t ask for you to speak.”

He can’t help the sly delicious grin on his face.

She pours some of the Champagne between her breasts, “Clean that.” She snaps and he hungrily does, lapping at her skin.

“Don’t let it be a waste of good Champagne,” she smiles to herself as he groans against her, she can already feel him hard against her leg – it took mere minutes. “You disgust me,” she rubs a hand through his hair, grabbing at it, “can’t even control yourself for five minutes. Now, get back over there.”

He kneels back between her legs, watches as she moves the bottle and pours a steady stream of Champagne over her belly, so that it flows down between her legs.

“Don’t be a disappointment,” she instructs and he hungrily sets to work cleaning the alcohol. The dry tartness of it, the musky saltiness of her, mixing together on his tongue.

She puts the bottle down, flops backwards on the pillows and closes her eyes so she can concentrate on the sensations between her thighs. Roman is diligent when it comes to this, she thinks maybe that’s because it’s easier for him than actual full sex, maybe oral sex was easier for him to commit to. Maybe it’s his age, these days men are supposed to know how to be good lovers, not selfish lovers, they’re expected to be well-groomed and considerate in the bedroom. As she moans out his name she thinks how very lucky she is to benefit from that now.

When she’s sated and happy she allows him to pleasure himself, watches as he does so, giving him instructions and guidance and even permission to come on her belly which drives him over the edge in seconds.

“You have no staying power,” she chides him as he falls onto the bed.

“I’m very sorry,” he mumbles into the mattress.

She cleans herself up, and he lays there, motionless and exhausted.

She leans over him, kissing the back of his beck, fingers toying with his hair, “Good morning,” she says, her voice different now, that wondrous soft tone she can have that envelops him.

“Good morning,” he laughs. “Wake me like that every day.”

“The Champagne is on your tab.”

“Order several cases just for that.”

She laughs in the back of her throat, kneels over him, rubbing at his shoulders, working his muscles. She reflects on how he feels like putty in her hands, she could mould or shape him into anything, and the exhilaration of that cancels out the fear.

“I’m going to get dressed and order food.” She places kisses down his back.

There seems a role-reversal here, he thinks to himself, she is paying attention to his body in the way he has often done to hers. It’s almost overwhelming, to feel her lips gentle on his skin, her fingertips trailing over his body – there is no rush, not a care in the world. He cannot recall ever having a woman pay attention to him, care for him, in the way she does.

His heart feels tight at that realisation – through anxiety or joy he is not sure, the two are so readily combined in his head.

“You want to look at the menu?” She asks, her voice a hum behind his ear now. “Or shall I order for you?”

“You order. I’ll grab a shower.”

“Okay.”

And then she is gone, he listens to her changing, moving around the room, and wonders if this is how it is to find intimacy with someone.

*

“I got something for you,” she says over brunch, out on the patio, her sunhat on.

“A gift?” His wipes his hands on a napkin, one leg bent, his foot on his chair. She often wonders how he’s comfortable that way, how he can digest.

“I was thinking of how I’ll be reading a lot whilst we’re here, lazing in the sunshine and just reading. Which you may very well think is very boring so before we get into anything yes, you toddle off and play like a good little boy and I’m fine with that.” She gets up from her chair, wanders into the kitchen area and returns with a paper-wrapped package.

He rolls his eyes.

“I know books are an unknown to you Roman,” she says handing them over. “But I have tried to think of things you’d find some semblance of interest in.”

She sat down again, picked at the fruit plate. “When you stay over I’ve noticed you like to watch a lot of those true crime documentaries,” she says, “so I went for that.” He is turning the books over, reading the blurb. “This one, _In Cold Blood_ ,” she points out, “is considered a game-changer in terms of real-crime literature. And this one was on the best-seller list this year, criminology and such, so…” she shrugs, trying to be nonchalant, fully expecting him never to even open a page. “It was just a thought, you don’t have to, you know, just a thought.” She lifts her cup, sips her tea.

“That’s real thoughtful,” he says, “you noticed what I watch?” He looks up at her sharply when that piece of information sinks in.

“Yes,” she is refilling her teacup. “Course. I know some nights I’m working and you just take up the space on my couch,” she says light-heartedly, “and you channel race but more often than not you stop on true crime.”

“Not worried are you?” he puts the books aside, staring at her with wide, crazy eyes. “Could be a developing serial killer.”

“You can try your best, but I think I could take you out if need be.”

He laughs at that, “Very true. Just deny me your pussy again, I’ll lick the floors clean for you.”

“I’ll remember that rather vulgar image, thanks. I was thinking it was more that you were interested in how the human mind works, I mean partly why these people do what they do, but also the psychology around tracking them down, predicting their actions in order to crack the case.”

“How did you get all that from me watching a bit of late-night tv?”

She shrugged, “Just an observation, from talking to you, you know.”

“Well, I’ll try give them a go. Just for you.”

“Well thank you very much.” She got up, leaned across the table and kissed him. “You finished?”

“Yeah.” He watches as she clears their plates away. “So, today just beach and sea I’m thinking, take it easy, laze away the time.”

“Suits me perfectly.” She says. “As long as you’re not bored.”

“I’m fine, fine, happy to be away. Happy to be alone with you.”

*

“Hey, minion!” She calls across from her hammock to his mid-afternoon.

There’s a long pause, a grumbling moan-like response, “Whaaaat?”

“My drink is empty. Thought it was non-stop service here.”

“I’m busy reading,” he raises an arm towards her, waving, though she can’t see his face and he can’t see hers. “I have no physical way of helping you out.”

“Listen, I didn’t want to have to tell you this, but unless I’m at least 75% drunk most of the time then I won’t be able to stomach being alone with you for two weeks.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you! Now get out of that fucking hammock and fetch me a drink – subordinate.”

“Gerri, there have been some complaints with how you talk to the staff. A tribunal may be held.”

She giggles, stretching her body, laying her book down on her chest and enjoying the sensation of the hammock swinging. “Oh Roman,” she moans now, changing tact, “please get me a drink, you’re so young and fit you can just… you’ll be quicker.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“My sharp tongue if you don’t fucking do it.”

“Lady fucking MacBeth all over again,” he tries to raise himself up, tries to move, but a combination of sun, alcohol and the swinging material supporting his body is sending him off-kilter.

She pushes her head up, rests on her elbows as she watches. “What the hell you doing?”

“Beck and fucking call girl,” he states, and then the hammock twists and he is unceremoniously dumped on the sand.

Of course, she laughs, can’t help it. Feels her entire body shake as she watches him try to rearrange his limbs and clamber to his feet.

“This is your fault,” he curses, brushing himself down and moving to stand over her. “I ought to tip you out.”

“Please don’t,” she raises her hands to his chest, “but can you help me out, I need to pee now.”

“God sake.”

“You made me laugh.” He takes hold of her hands, helps her sit and drop her feet over the edge.

“Still want a drink or shall we have a swim?”

“Let’s do that, be right back.” She presses on his shoulders, him half lifting her out, watching as she plods across the sand and inside. Odd how the quiet and stillness of the day has been welcome to him, he’d usually want to fill every minute with noise, but just being silent with her seems as good as anything else he could imagine.

“Race you!” She challenges as she passes him, touching his arm, already running.

He chases her across the sand, both laughing as he reaches for her body, tickling her waist, grabbing at her hips as they splash into the water.

“Oh that feels so good,” she stands, lets the waves rush against her legs. “So long since I’ve done this, had a proper vacation.”

Roman has already dived in and is swimming away from her. She stands and watches, wades deeper, a hand to her hat to keep it in place. As he moves effortlessly through the water she is reminded once again of his age and his energy – this insatiable appetite for everything in life.

There’s a lovely light afternoon breeze as she makes her way to the foot of the deck, takes the four steps up to the wooden structure and walks all the way down to the end, keeping her eye on Roman as he swims. At the end there’s a round covered area, complete with table and chairs and a ladder down into the water. She stands at the edge, the ribbon of her hat blowing in the breeze, and surveys their view. Everything is still and silent out here and as always she is reminded of how constant the city is, a never ending assault on the senses. She sometimes forgets what it is to be still, to be silent; those evenings she makes it home at a decent hour, when there’s no party or dinner or event to attend; and she can slip into comfy clothes and eat a takeaway she’s picked up on the way back and just watch the news and be quiet, they seem to mean the most now.

She has no intention of slowing down, it has taken her a lifetime to reach this position, but it would be nice if perhaps every now and then there was something more than just work.

Roman is floating on his back in front of her, kicking his legs, “Hey sexy mother-fucker!” he shouts up and she is glad there is nobody else around. “Come on in the water.”

“I will.”

“Jump in, come play.”

She thinks of her hair getting wet and the salt in it and the damage the sun and sea will do to her skin.

“Come the fuck on!” He shouts again.

“Alright, alright. Jesus.” She plonked her hat on the table, turning to go backwards down the ladder and into the water.

“Just jump.”

“My hair.”

“Fuck sake Ger, where’s your killer instinct?”

She gave him the middle finger, to which he laughed, but jumped anyway, holding her breath and feeling her entire body plunge into the cool blue. When she spluttered to the surface he was swimming towards her, and she brushed her hair back from her face, treading water.

“This is glorious,” she said as he got close and he caught hold of her body and held her waist as he kissed her.

“You taste of salt,” she said softly, her face close to his.

“So do you. Now, move back a bit because childish or not I’m going to have to bomb off the edge of this thing.”

“Such a brat,” she said, but swam some way out anyhow, knowing he’d easily catch her.

She twisted onto her back, watched him run and jump off the end like a kid. And then she floated, let the current move her, stared up at the flawless sky.

“We have done little of consequence today,” she said as he swam past her.

“Not feeling guilty, are you?”

“Mmm, not really no, though I have to admit I haven’t turned my phone on or checked my emails so I must do that when we get back to shore.”

“Fuck it.”

“Interesting approach to take.”

She continued to float around, used her arms to guide her so she was never too far out from the deck. Roman swims out some distance, she glances around every now and then to check he’s okay but he’s young and fit and she figures he can take care of himself, as can she.

“You think this boat is ours?” She asks when he pops up next to her.

“It definitely is ours.” He copies her move, lying on his back and floating beside her. “Thought we’d take it out one day, have a sail around this bit, take some food.”

“Can you sail?”

“How hard can it fucking be?”

She shoots him a glare, “I can sail.”

“Show off. We’ve got one of those little kayak explorer things too.”

“I noticed that near the shore. Thought it was for water-safety or something.”

“No its ours, you wanna have a go?”

“Now?”

“Yeah, just for an hour, paddle round the shore, see what’s about.”

She considers saying no, just floating there, but there’s this background noise in her head, something she’d dropkick if it ever manifested itself in physical form but can’t seem to ignore at the moment – _that maybe he might get bored._

She has of course already made friends with this idea. She had settled it in her own mind months ago, even before anything remotely physical had happened between them – it was when he was calling and texting her several times a day. It would quieten at weekends when he was out partying and she figured that was fine, it was a professional thing burgeoning on a kind of mentor-friendship thing. Only then it wasn’t. Within a five-minute call they crossed over into something far more intimate.

But even then she figured he’d get bored, that it was just a distraction to get him through a six-week management training course, that when he rang every few days at some godforsaken hour and she spent a good deal of her time listening to his heavy breathing he’d soon move on. Even when he groaned out her name one night over the phone she still thought once he got home and back to his stunning girlfriend it would stop.

It didn’t.

But she was still waiting for the moment it would. When she wouldn’t seem all that intriguing anymore.

It was proving exhausting, second guessing herself, and so completely alien to the way she usually approached life.

She swam after him, climbed the ladder and retrieved her hat before walking down the deck to where the kayak was secured.

He was dragging it to the shore as she nipped to the outdoor dining to get a drink.

“Do you know where we’re going?” She asked as they set off, she in front, he behind.

“Is that like a life question, do any of us really know…” He joked.

“I was thinking more of the immediate future rather than long-term goals.”

“What are your long-term goals?” He asked as they wobbled forward. “We need to balance more,” he said, and she twisted round to look at him as he instructed, “Sit back, keep your paddle like this.”

“Alright, bossy.”

“I know kayaks,” he stated. “And we need to move in sync too.”

“I thought we were already quite good at that,” she teased, and he laughed because it was so unusual for her to be the one to make the obvious joke. “Short term – get better at doing this.” She stated. “Mid-term…” she huffed, and he noted how her shoulders tightened just slightly. “Don’t end up being dragged into this shit-show trial and going to jail.”

He had tried to block that out. He figured he was pretty safe; he actually knew very little about Cruises and there was nothing to tie him to it all either through paper evidence or hear-say. She was a different matter. She was at the centre of their legal dealings. It would be very hard to argue she knew nothing and had been completely blind-sided if Logan and Kendall went head-to-head, and even then he kept imagining they’d somehow bury the hatchet and unite against someone else taking the fall and that someone could still be her. Once again his brain searched for answers to a puzzle that was far too complex for him to solve and fix.

“The yacht plan could still be put into action.”

She laughed, but it sounded a little hollow.

“I guess my long-term depends on how my mid-term goes.”

“And if it goes well?”

“Eat more cake. Retire to some glorious place like this.”

He nodded, “Sounds an excellent plan, you forgot something though…”

“Oh?”

“Take me along, fuck like rabbits.”

“Oh well yeah, that’s a fucking given.” She laughed for real now and he was glad that with a few words he’d managed to shift her mood. “Shall we dress up tonight, go to the members restaurant?”

“Yes.” He wanted to see her in some fabulous dress, had started longing for the boring charity events to take place at home just so he could see her in some fabulous dress. “There’s a band in there every night.”

“A-ha.”

“You know what that means?”

“It means you’re going to make me fucking dance, and there’s nobody here to see it, capture it on camera and release it to the press for a nice pay-packet, which in turn would also mean you wouldn’t have to tell your father we’re sleeping together because somebody has done it for you.”

That stung. “I’d tell him,” he said softly.

She let that slide, felt the slightest tinge of guilt for bringing it up.

“Such a beautiful coast,” she said instead, “all this colour.”

“Should’ve brought my camera,” he replied.

They were quiet for a lot of the trip, awkwardly turning at some point which basically meant Roman getting out and turning the kayak, and then paddling back to their spot along the beach.

“That wasn’t too bad,” she said as she climbed out, “I’d do that again.”

“Jet skis tomorrow,” he said – she wasn’t sure if it was a promise or a threat.

*

She wore a red dress.

It fucking killed him.

“Soooo,” he was almost slurring as she came out into the lounge ready for dinner, “is this fucking role-play night then, because I forgot my cowboy hat.”

“You’re going as my weak-ass barely-coherent understudy,” she gestured with both hands, “I see you’re already dressed for the part.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’d like to.” She glanced around the room, “The question is where and whether you’re worthy.” She tapped her chin.

He chuckled, “Such a bitch.”

“Ice in my veins,” she leant over him, hovered by his face, hands resting on the arms of the chair he lounged in.

“Stunning.” He stated softly.

“Thank you. Care to take me to dinner?”

“I’d take you anywhere.”

“This is an entirely new side of you,” she stated, gripping his offered arm. “I’m assuming we have some form of transportation, because I’m not walking on the sand in these heels.”

“Right this way…”

*

“A toast to our first full day alone without murdering each other,” she said, holding her glass up.

“Some fucking miracle,” he toasted in return.

“You ever actually been on holiday with just one person before?”

He thought about it then shook his head, “No, isn’t that weird, never. I can’t think… Oh, hang on, I think I tried it once when I was about 23,” he unbuttoned his jacket and slipped it off, he had no real idea why he’d worn it. “Had this crazy idea that it’d be great to be away with my girlfriend – we’d have the coolest time just doing our shit, having fun, free access to her pussy every night.”

“Roman!” she chided and he lowered his voice. “And?”

“And we were flying back within three days, never to see each other again. I flew on from New York to Vegas with a bunch of guys instead, put her in a car at the airport.”

She stared at him for a moment, “Who taught you to be so hateful towards women?”

“Hey, I fucking love women.”

“Hmm, the actions don’t seem to support the message.”

“I do love them, I don’t know how to _be_ with them, but I love them.”

“You’re doing alright with me.”

“I don’t think of you as a woman.”

“Oh?!” She laughed, “What the hell am I then?”

“No, I don’t mean it like that. I mean I think of you as…” he held his palm out, “Gerri.”

“Thanks.”

“That’s not a bad thing, you’re just Gerri, you’ve always been there… Christ I’m making a mess of this.”

“Yes. You are.”

“I mean it in a good way, like I don’t stress around you or lose my shit, no anxiety, because I’m not performing. Pretending to be someone. Does that make sense? The kid in the glossy gossip magazines who’s not bad looking and worth a fair dollar so I’ll put up with his weird shit because I might get something in return.”

She nodded, resting her chin on her folded hands. “That makes sense yet. I’ll take it as a positive.”

“Good, thanks, phew!” he mock-wiped his brow, noted how she was leaning forward looking at him intently, the candlelight making her hair glow golden-blonde. “I like you in red,” he said, “and red lipstick just…” he rolled his eyes.

“I know.” She smiled. "You said."

“Question for you.” He leant forward, taking a sip of his Champagne, the taste sparking the memory of the last place he’d tasted it.

“Go on.”

“Why me?” He tilted his glass towards her, “You’re fucking obvious, if ever the word MILF needed a cover girl you’re fucking it, believe me. Guys I know would pay to be balls deep in you.”

“Such classy flattery.”

“I aim to please.”

“Maybe I want the playboy from the glossy magazines too.” She sat back, took a drink from her own glass.

“Yeah. Right. If you wanted it for the power position you’re fair placed to go for the top dog. You might even land him too, going on the Marcia situation.”

“Mmm, I prefer my bedroom arrangements to come without a side helping of self-flagellation. Your father is a little too much, even for me.”

“Okay, okay. But still, question dodged.”

“Was it?” She smiled mysteriously over her glass at him.

“You know damn well, and that’s the second time you’ve dodged it.”

Her eyebrows rose, “Really?”

“Don’t play with me.”

“I thought that’s what you liked.”

“Depends on the context.” He drew that out, drumming his fingers on the table near her arm until they both giggled like teenagers on a date. “Alright, easier question then.”

“Is it – _why is Roman so annoying_?”

“Gee, I got the answer to that one already thanks to dear old Dad.” He pulled his hand back, sank back the rest of the Champagne in his glass in one gulp. “How about five quick questions?”

“Go.” She stretched her legs out, touched his foot with hers.

“Favourite colour?”

“Black,” she pursed her lips. “You?”

“Blue, usually, fucking red now.”

She smirked.

“Cat or dog?” He asked.

“Neither. Too much care and hairs around the home.” She pulled a face, “You?”

“Dog.”

“Whatever, you’d struggle to watch over a goldfish.”

“We had dogs as kids.”

“Did you walk them, feed them, clean them?”

“Please. We have staff.”

She shook her head, sighing at him.

“Erm, three – music you're ashamed of, you’d put it on at home to sing along to but tell nobody.”

“Ah, that’s private –,” she was leaning forward again, fully engaged in the conversation, and he leant forward to her, foreheads almost touching as they smiled easily, laughed together. To even the most casual observer it was clear this was the early stages of romance – the excitable, lustful stage on the verge of something more.

“Again this is a… so don’t go spreading my secrets, you know.”

“Stop stalling.”

“Britney.” She covered her face, laughing into her hands.

“Brilliant, you sing and dance at home to Britney Spears. Absolutely fucking priceless.”

“In the shower mostly, it’s the beat, wakes me up.”

“I get it really,” he teased, “Work bitch is made for you – _sip martinis, better work bitch_ , fucking amazing!”

“Alright, alright. It’s all very funny. Now yours,” she pressed her hand to his on the table, as if maintaining physical contact all of the time was essential now.

“Elvis.” He shrugged, “He’s the fucking King.”

“Very true. And your hair is perfect for it. Do I ask a question now?”

“Technically it’s five for me then five for you to be asked immediately or postponed to a later date.”

“Alright, I shall save mine and think of wicked ones. Go on then, number four.”

“Best orgasm?”

“I abstain.”

“You can’t abstain, it’s not in the rules.”

“I make my own rules.”

“I’ll go first…” he toyed with her fingers on the table, “On the yacht.”

She was silent at that, an enigmatic smile on her face, her eyes bright as they watched him.

“Unless you…” he cleared his throat, lowered his voice as he leant even further across the table to her, “…don’t speak or reply, I mean, if you just remain silent now I’m going to have to assume that on the yacht was your best orgasm too…” He held her gaze, her beautiful wide blue eyes sparkling.

“Alright, okay then.” He mumbled when she didn’t reply, and she enjoyed seeing him flustered. “So, then, number five?”

She nodded, still holding his hand.

“What is it about Roman Roy that you can’t resist?”

She chuckled at that, leaning back now, though he still held onto her hand across the table. “Well… He chooses great restaurants. He has a quick wit.”

“True, true.”

“He’s often the centre of the joke.”

“Or the butt of it.”

“Not that. He holds people’s attention, in a good way, he’s positive.”

“This is bullshit stuff.”

“He’s _sooo_ patient…” she teased, squeezing his fingers. “He’s kind,” she finally said truthfully, “he pretends he isn’t because it doesn’t fit the performance. The persona. But he’s kind, and vulnerable though strong, he just doesn’t always know he’s strong.”

He was quiet for a long time, staring at her, wondering if anything she said held one grain of truth in it.

“Wow, intense,” he stated. “That’s a lot for me to take on board.” He finally said.

She took her hand back, “I think we’re going to need more Champagne,” she said, sipping hers. She felt like she was blushing, an odd, new sensation for her.

She was glad when their first course arrived, it gave them something else to focus on than just each other.

“The band sounds good,” she said, “this isn’t bad actually, for dancing, if you insist.”

“What it is, like some bullshit swing music?”

“I guess…” she listened more closely, eating her food, raking her mind through the words she had just committed herself to and feeling a bit foolish.

“I like Tony Bennett,” he said, as if it was an afterthought. “Dad took me with him to see him once, one of this intimate club things. He was good, got style, I liked it.”

“Nothing to do with spending a pleasant night with your dad?”

“Maybe that too. Lady is a Tramp, hey that could be your song.”

“Fuck off.”

He chuckled, “Dance then, later, after dinner?”

She couldn’t help but smile, her mouth twisting to one side in that cute little way she had that made his heart feel light.

*

She hadn’t felt odd about their evening together at all; endless Champagne, the food outstanding, their chatter light-hearted – that was until they were on the dancefloor. At their table they were huddled together in their own little candle-lit bubble. On the dancefloor they could be seen, and people looked, and looked.

He was oblivious, or seemed to be, but she was keenly aware of eyes on them as he took her hand in his and moved his body close to hers.

“What?” he whispered by her ear, she was tucked up against him, her face half pressed against his shoulder. “You want to lead?”

She smothered a laugh, smiled up at him, “We’re getting attention.”

“Good,” he said, and then “Fuck em.”

She wishes she had his bravado over it all but she can’t help but feel that those looking in their direction think she is his mother.

He grips her ass on purpose and seems to somehow pull her even closer and that makes her laugh, he’s right, fuck em, they’re just strangers, what does it matter.

Three songs in she heads to the washroom and when she returns he’s waiting at their table.

“Shall we head back to the villa?”

“One more dance?” He asks, and her shoulders drop.

“I’m getting tired.”

“Just one, come on, shame to waste the dress.”

“You’re such a good flirt, I forget that sometimes,” she mutters as he’s already walking her back to join the other couples.

They sway to the latter half of the song currently playing, there’s a singer with the band now, the room is darker as dinner service comes to an end and the entertainment takes centre stage.

When the opening bars begin she doesn’t note it at first, just that the beat is faster and he’s swinging her body more and then she hears the first line, ‘She gets hungry for dinner at eight.’

She glances to his face, notes the cheeky expression, and laughs, “Did you set this up?”

He shrugs, but swings her out, twists her, pulls her back in.

“Who taught you to dance?”

“Mother dearest, one of the few things she did teach me.”

“A hidden talent.”

“Most girls don’t want to dance, just grind in clubs, I’m popular at weddings mind.”

“You could be the entertainment.”

He’s holding her waist, mouthing the words to her, ‘She never bothers with people she'd hate. That's why the lady is a tramp.’

*

“I think tramp must have different connotations,” she says later as they walk back across the beach. He is holding her shoes in one hand, his other hand holding hers. His trouser legs are rolled up to his knees as the gentle foam of the surf tickles their ankles.

“People always think it’s like a cheap whore or something.”

“Or someone on the street, homeless. But in the song he seems to suggest it’s a good thing.”

“Isn’t it a show tune?” He says.

“How do you know that?”

He shrugs, “Full of useless pop-culture stuff. And in it, I can’t remember the name of the musical, but she’s like independent and stuff, doesn’t stick to social rules because she’s got her own priorities and all that shit. Wants to do it her way. Can’t be bothered with all that fake stuff about keeping up appearances in high society. So these rich bastards see her as being a tramp.”

“That’s not useless information, I can’t believe you know that.”

He shrugged again, “We had a lot of nannies as kids who watched a lot of old movies, I paid attention. I was the baby, remember.”

She did.

She held tighter to his arm, pressed her face against it, “I’ve had a really lovely evening, that was an A1 date.”

“It was?”

“It was, you should feel proud, no training scheme needed.”

“I could run one, self-help group on dating.”

“I wouldn’t go quite that far just yet.”

They were silent for a while as they walked, enjoying the warm breeze as it came in off the sea and tangled her hair, the scent of a day ending.

“I would tell him, you know,” he said at one point. “I wouldn’t just… If you wanted me to, if we get to the point where this is public knowledge, I’d tell him.”

“A-ha.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“It’s not that, it’s just…” she squeezed his arm, “…let’s not worry about it.”

“In what regard? Cos I’ll fucking do it, he can go to hell.”

“Well I mean…” she knew he didn’t mean that; there was nothing more important to him than his father’s opinion, but she wasn’t about to point that out to him. She sighed, “We don’t know what’s going to happen, this is still casual to you, yes?”

He wasn’t sure. He didn’t think so.

“Yes, still casual.”

“So nobody needs to be involved in anything, unless things develop and become serious and that could be a long way off or not happen at all.”

It was serious now. He felt in over his head. He’d never danced with any woman before.

“Are you scared of what he’d say?”

“No, of course not.” She said, lifting her head from his arm. “But it would cause ructions, wouldn’t it, Logan is not going to be happy that we’ve got a personal thing going on, he’d see it as some sort of underhand tactic on either one of our parts.”

For some reason he had thought it could be easy. That if this did continue his family would tease him mercilessly but ultimately they’d accept it because he was happy. He was a fucking idiot at times.

“Rome...” she said, tugging his arm, “you okay?”

“Yeah. Fucking hate it all, fucking families and their crap.”

“It’s fine, we’re fine, let’s just enjoy each day here.” They had reached the steps of their villa and she turned to face him, “Let’s not end it negatively…” she touched the collar of his shirt, “Listen, how about we continue the dancing, our own private dancing.”

“Sounds promising. You gonna be all seductive with me, grind against me.”

“If you like,” she walked backwards up the steps.

“That fucking dress has given me a night-long hard-on.”

“Worth every penny then.”

He pours Bourbon, plays around with the hundred buttons on the wall until the lighting is right, and she finds the music she wants.

“Not Britney, is it?” He calls from outside, wandering around the pool, barefoot, drink in hand.

“It’s not that kind of dancing.”

She joins him outside, “You know I have a thing for 70s disco music too, don’t tell anybody that neither.”

“Fair enough. That your workout music?”

“Actually, quite often yes, Pierre doesn’t mind.”

“Who’s he?”

“My trainer. Doesn’t jerk me off at the end of sessions, don’t worry.”

He lets that comment hang, downs his Bourbon instead of tackling it.

“Take your shirt off,” she says and he rolls his glass between his hands, skirting around the edge of the pool. He places the glass down, removes his shirt, throws it to the table.

“Would you mind?” She asks, unpinning her hair, shaking it loose. “If he did.”

“Can I watch?”

She shakes her head, wonders if that’s the route they’re taking tonight – she hadn’t thought so during the walk back, nor during their dancing.

“Question one,” she says, moving close to him, pressing a hand to his chest, “can Roman dance without an audience?”

“He thinks he can.”

He bends his head, doesn’t touch her, keeps his hands by his side, and his lips trace over hers, not kissing her fully but testing, tickling. He moves across her cheeks, to her forehead, to her neck, using his tongue as he finds her pulse points.

He’ll never forget the smell of her. So strong he can almost taste it.

She moans something, her head is tilted back and he feels smug about that, that this pleasure comes from him. He lifts his arms around her now, grips her hips, pulls her close to him.

The beat is slow and steady, a deep thrumming that seems to be in his veins as they move together. The way her hips tip, how her waist fits in his hands, the fullness of her breasts against his bare chest. And that delicious hair which he’s buried his face in a hundred times now and still does it again and again.

It is he who removes her panties, on his knees, stroking her calves and then up and over her hips, his fingers moving over every inch of her body. They kiss, tongues tasting, the silent communication of bodies desiring the other.

She can hear the singer somewhere in the background of her mind talking of the lovers being in their own garden of Eden and she turns her back to him so her bottom is at his groin. Still swaying, his mouth in her hair, on her neck, the palms of his hands on her stomach. And she looks out over their view, the blue of it all, the sensuality of it all. She can’t recall it ever being like this, surely it must have been, surely she’s had this deep intensity before.

She is already moaning his name and he’s pushed her dress up at the back, one hand between her legs. She’s too old for something this good.

“You’re the sexiest woman I’ve known,” his mouth by her ear, the hot whisper of words said in desire, the slickness of her on his fingertips.

For a moment she believes him, turns to face him again, a battle of lips hungry for the other. Her fingers trembling as they unbuckle his trousers, the smooth thickness of him in her palm hot and throbbing. His hips beg to thrust between her fingers but he keeps himself still, lets her lead.

Quick hands to his shoulders, pushing him down to sit, and his eager fingers pushing up the skirt of her dress as she straddles him.

They’ve done this before several times now, but he can’t remember it being this passionate. Her hands pressing into the wall behind him to support herself, the open-mouthed moaning from her, the way her hips thrust against him. His hand in her hair, fingers threading through it as he directs her mouth to his and repeatedly kisses her.

Her name in the air, and this primal raw of release as he comes deep inside her, burying himself in this home.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Gerri.” He is panting, she can hardly breathe, holds onto his shoulders, her entire body convulsing around him.

He supports her back, bends her, smothers her chest in kisses, lays her down as exhausted they shift side-by-side and lie in the blue light of the pool – hearts thudding.

“Keep the dress.” He mutters into the night air.

She can hardly find the energy to laugh, but smiles, reaching for his hand.

“Wanna do that again?” He asks, turning his head to look at her, lifting their hands in the air.

She twists her face to his, realising the ridiculousness of the two of them lying there out on the decking, him naked, her exhausted.

“Ten-minute break before round two,” she says.

“Deal.”

They lay listening to the sea, one another’s thready breathing, the sound of their bodies melting and coming down from their shared high.

“That was the answer to number four,” she eventually says into the darkness.

It takes him a while to work out what she means.


	3. Chapter 3

“Good morning Tramp!” he teases as she comes into the kitchen area. He’s been trying to figure out how to use the fancy coffee machine for the past twenty minutes and is still struggling

“Holy fuck, I feel like death.” She sank down into one of the lounge chairs. “I haven’t been hungover for years – what did I have yesterday?”

“A lot of Champagne. Bourbon. And cocktails during the day.”

“Christ, no alcohol today,” she pressed her hands to her head, raking her fingers through her hair as if it could draw out the pain. “I need to drink a lot of water and eat some oily fish. Have your ordered breakfast yet?”

“I’m still trying to remember how to walk.” He leant over the back of the chair, chin on her shoulder. “Somebody rode me hard last night.”

“Oh god, I’d forgotten all that too.” She closed her eyes, tilted her head back. “I can’t actually believe that was me, I don’t behave like that.”

“My influence.” He nipped at her neck; she smelled of sex.

“Bad influence. Is there coffee?”

“This machine is like some intelligence test.”

“And you’ve failed?”

“Currently.”

She groaned as she pushed herself to her feet, “Okay, let’s look, where’s my glasses?”

Within five minutes they had coffee and sat out on the deck waiting for breakfast to arrive.

“I see the jet skis are already here. Not sure how physically ready I am for them today.” Even the weight of her sunhat seemed an imposition.

“It’ll be good, shake off the cobwebs.”

“How the hell are you not suffering?”

“Don’t be fooled, my head’s pounding like a mother fucker, but the euphoric high of fucking you all night long is replacing it.”

“Oh god, no wonder I feel a bit…for want of a better word… _sore_.” She stretched her back, rolled her shoulders. “My body feels like a lump of clay.”

“Maybe I can give you a massage later, orrr better bet, we’ll book you in with a masseur.” He flipped his phone out, ignoring the message from Shiv. “I’ll do it now. Maybe for after jet skis?”

“Yes, I might fall asleep once they’ve worked their magic. Any chance of a facial too?”

“I’ll check... Yep.”

She closes her eyes again, tips her head back and enjoys the warmth of the sun on her face.

After breakfast she feels a bit more human and for the first time retrieves her laptop from the safe, logging in and wading through her emails.

Roman swims for a while, and then lays on a sun lounger watching ridiculous TikToks on his phone. He occasionally laughs. She occasionally complains about the shit people have sent her. She calls Karolina at one point and has a lengthy discussion and his phone flashes again, a second message from Shiv, he flicks his finger over it and reads this time.

**> Are you boning GERRI?!?!?!**

and then

**> Read your fucking texts!!!!!**

He feels his chest constrict, a flash of heat pass over his body, people know. Okay, well, he wanted people to know, didn’t he, so that’s alright.

**_> None of your business. Fuck off._ **

**> Gonna be everybody’s business soon.**

**_> Why?_ **

It takes a few seconds before she replies and then a picture pops up, the two of them together from the previous night, he can remember the moment the picture was taken, when they were just leaving for the night. He had it on his phone. It was a good shot. She looked stunning. He stared at it for the longest time, his skin prickling as if something dirty and shameful had happened. The uncomfortable feeling spinning in his stomach is unwelcome, so he does what he always does, he took it and turned into anger and retaliation.

**_> How the fuck did you get that?_ **

**> Currently being touted to the highest bidder. Can your reputation handle it……What will your ‘cool’ friends think?**

**_> Hang on, that’s a private picture taken on my phone on a private holiday._ **

**> Should’ve checked who was clicking what. Gerri looks pleased with herself! Well done to you…**

**_> Fuck off_ **

**> What you want to do?**

**_> As in?_ **

**> Let the story roll out, or I can try and kill it. Hit them with legal bollocks. Fire the staff member.**

**_> It’s a private picture! _ **

**> Leave it or kill it…?**

He looked up, gripping his phone in his hand and closing his fingers over the screen as Gerri leant over his shoulder, kissing his cheek. “I’m done, I’ll go change and we can head to sea.” She kissed him again before she disappeared.

He laid there for the longest time, like some rock had just crushed his stomach, mentally trying to list the pros and cons of the story breaking whilst they were still away. Or, the pros of it not breaking at all.

“Rome, come on,” she was already changed, in a different swimsuit, clipping up her hair.

He watched as she poured herself some juice, then stood on the deck drinking it, utterly relaxed and free with him now.

“Are you moving?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry, was reading something.”

“Oh? Anything important?”

“No.” he jumped up, met her on the deck, slid his hand around her waist and abruptly pulled her to him, kissing her deeply. “Morning Geraldine.”

She rested a hand on his shoulder, “It’s afternoon I think by now, but good morning anyhow.”

Her smile was luscious.

He kissed her again. “Be two minutes.” And went to change.

In the bedroom he opened his phone again and typed a reply:

**_> Kill it_ **

*

He shakes off the guilt approximately thirteen minutes later when he’s already sped off on his jet ski. There had been a promise he wouldn’t a) go too fast or b) leave her until she was comfortable. Both rules broken within the first two minutes.

They had swum out together, he’d helped her climb aboard, flicked through the instructions in around ten seconds and then was on his and gone.

She had watched him for a while, the annoyance building, wondering if he might turn and come back once he’d done the whole masculine show-off thing – she’d worked with men long enough to realise that every now and then there had to be a game of how big is your dick in order to make them feel like they were top of the pecking order.

She had no time for it, it was all bullshit, but she was used to it nevertheless.

When he didn’t stop nor turn around she considered leaving him to it and returning to her work. After all she could fill the entire day with work, but when she had agreed to this vacation she had also agreed to give him her time and attention.

And besides – she was no fucking quitter.

“Alright Gerri,” she told herself, settling on the bike, mentally going through the fast set of instructions he’d reeled off. “So, key attached to life jacket, pop it on the funny nipple shaped thing. Done. Red button.” The engine started. “Throttle like a motorbike, don’t push it too hard or you’ll bunny hop, keep it steady, grip with your thighs. I can do that.”

When it jolted forward her heart lurched, but she eased back on the throttle and took several deep breaths as she moved easily through the water, following behind Roman.

*

There was something twisted about it, spearing and destroying his own guilt by somehow projecting it onto her – and then, being a total bastard with her to make himself feel better. It was a weird sensation, especially as he’d spent so many months trying to win her over, soften her up, get her here into this position where she was not only sexually free with him but where she would offer up morsels of private, personal information that made him feel like they were in this together, like she was as into him as he was her.

And now he had that, and she was doing it, what… he wanted to fuck all that over? To hurt her? His brain couldn’t cope with it, and so he did what he so often did, he raced from it.

Speeding off on a jet ski was the closest he could get to running.

He was surprised then that when he swept round and looped back to face the beach that she hadn’t given up. In fact she was coming towards him and he felt a sense of pride at that which made his chest ache.

“Thanks so much for that you little shit,” she shouted to him.

“Oh yeah, sorry. You managed it though.”

“I’m not fucking useless, reassuring to know that despite initial observations you are indeed like every other fucking man I’ve encountered – incapable of keeping a fucking promise.”

“Hey, you wanna curse me again, don’t think you got enough in.”

“Arrogant bastard.” She pulled around him. “You want me here or not?”

He rolled that over in his mind – the immediate answer was ‘yes’, the horrid worm of an answer that had so quickly polluted his thoughts was ‘no’. He considered hurting her.

“Think quickly Roman because I’m not the kind of woman to be dropped off at the airport and still be available to be picked up again, so whatever has occurred in your fucked up head between last night and today either deal with it or tell me and I’ll arrange a flight home. But don’t expect me to put up with bullshit.”

He could be cruel. She had given him the out if he wanted it. And he knew that if he did tell her to go that would be it, done, but in the office she’d be professionalism personified; it wouldn’t affect their work.

“I want you here.” He finally said, because the thought of never touching her again or hearing the soft lilting thing she did with her voice when she spoke to him felt like a blade in his lungs.

“Right. So, let’s go then, half the speed you were doing because as much as you might deserve it right now I really don’t want to be scooping your brains off the top of the water.”

“Mom!”

“Weasel.”

“Oooh, that’s a new one, I like that.”

“Honestly, this is why I stay single.”

*

She was a certain age now where she had the ability to step back and recognise certain things and not take offence at them. She was practical. Resourceful. And as fun as the jet ski thing turned out to be after they returned to shore she had showered and changed and walked the beach on her own to the main resort where the salon was housed.

Roman had booked her in for two appointments, but once there she selected more, intending to fill several hours.

She had accepted this would be the case even before they came out; she was a long-term singleton now, he seemed to like to be in a relationship but handled them prettily shittily when he was – the two of them alone together for an extended period of time was bound to lead to conflict at certain points.

There was nothing wrong with that, she was mature enough to recognise it and settled enough within herself to not really take personal offence, and the previous day had been intense. Every so often she paused, it was as if she suddenly realised how close they had become and so she would take several steps back – perhaps today was one of those days. Dating him was some sort of rollercoaster mind field test, and she still wasn’t entirely sure if what they were doing was dating, not in the traditional sense. She was hesitant to put a label on it at all.

She was working through this very problem as the masseuse worked on her back, and under the girl’s skilled hands she allowed herself to fall limp and pliable. Relaxing like this cleared her head and put things into some sort of perspective.

*

Roman was agitated, and when he was agitated he did silly things to keep the buzz going. Drugs, alcohol, sex, adrenaline. But in his current position his usual vices didn’t seem an option.

Being alone wasn’t an entirely natural role for him, he enjoyed being the centre of attention, it being loud and overwhelming, because then he didn’t have time or space to concentrate on the things that were bothering him. He couldn’t get worried or upset when there was a party going on.

He sat on the beach for the longest time feeling annoyed with himself, these feelings of self-hatred were nothing new, they had been a childhood friend, and he had professional strategies for dealing with them – and he had less legitimate methods for dealing with them. Wanting to crawl out of his own skin, hating himself, picking apart every little word or action he’d ever done and then the inevitable slump back to memories of times when he’d been belittled, humiliated, crushed. They were the bits he liked the best. When his brain chose to replay them in slow-motion so he could fully enjoy it all with wide-screen 3D cinematic effect. Front row seats.

He drank two beers.

Went on his phone and booked every possible dangerous water sport he could for the coming week.

And then he went back on the jet ski and rammed the machine as hard as he could until he flew off, crashed into the water and sank. He let the sea drag him down, went loose and limp, considered staying that way but then he suddenly thought of Gerri – that she would be the one to find him, or worse, she would just find him missing, and that hurt more than any physical damage.

He was lucky really, the safety on the machine had cut out; his leg was knocked up but he was alive and still able to swim. He reached for the surface, climbed back aboard and leisurely headed in.

When she returned he was sleeping on one of the day beds beneath an umbrella. She tiptoed around, got herself a drink and sat down to read as afternoon tipped into early evening.

“Hey,” he said sometime later, and she glanced up from her book.

“Hi.”

“You have a good time?”

“Lovely, feel very buffed and fresh.” She marked the page in her book. “What’d you get up to?”

He shrugged, “Tried to kill myself on the jet ski.”

“What?”

“Nothing much, casual accident.”

“Roman,” she got up, made her way to him, “you’ve cut your forehead,” she pointed out.

“Didn’t notice that. Gave my knee a good going over though.” He indicated the spreading bruise.

“Fuck sake, I’m gone for a couple of hours.”

She fetched the First Aid box and sat beside him on the lounger to clean his cut. “How?”

“Going too fast, nothing more dramatic than that.”

She resists the urge to tell him she did warn him. “You’re in an odd mood today,” she points out.

“Annoying you?”

“A little,” she admitted, “confusing me.”

“I confuse my fucking self,” he spat, running a hand through his hair.

“Why, what’s wrong? Tell me, I can try and help.”

“Just, feel like a fraud, I’m the one who keeps pushing and…” he shrugged.

“Us, you mean. But we’re fine.” She rested a hand on his arm. “I’m happy for things to just meander, see each other when we like, this doesn’t have to be – I’m not expecting anything Roman; I’m not asking for anything.”

“I keep thinking of all that baby-shit I said about ‘going steady’ and telling my family.”

She felt her throat get tight, but she kept the concern from her face, stretching her voice into some sarcastic uninterested tone. “You mean I’m not coming to the next red-carpet event on your arm?” She smiled at him, “This is fine. It’s a lot, going away together.”

“I pushed for it.”

“You push for a lot of things then change your mind.”

“I haven’t changed my mind I just –,”

“I know. But as I keep saying, take things slow, we see where it leads. Maybe we need to get a bit better at being ‘slow’. Yesterday was intense.” She got up from her chair, patted his arm and kissed his head. “Everything is fine, I’m not angry with you. I’m going to shower before we go for dinner, we are still going for dinner?”

“Yeah, course.”

“Okay.”

He sits for a long time thinking on that, wonders if Shiv has managed to find out which dick stole his property, wondering if it’s safe to go back.

“You fancy going further afield?” He calls to her.

“In what sense?”

“There’s some highly rated places, we could go discover them. I’ll get a car.”

“Sure. I’m happy with that.” She leaves him to book things, finds she’s happy to let him take control, and heads to the bathroom.

He feels like he’s in some fucking desert storm being fired at from all sides – in his most perfect of scenarios every day would be as wondrous as yesterday had, there would be nothing but being consumed by her, drowning in her.

But that isn’t the real world.

And in his real world there is Shiv, and Kendall, and his father and all the judgement and questions and condescension that comes with them. It would taint what he had with Gerri, they would, cheapen it, try to label it and shove it into a box. He didn’t want them near it.

The text from Shiv had been a wake-up call, it could get out as easily as that, without him controlling the narrative. And he was still such a messed-up kid, he was meant to be a man, an adult, but things don’t change overnight.

And god, Gerri… What if he lost that? What if he messed that up like he did everything else in his fucking useless waste of a life?

He headed into the bedroom and undressed, listened to her in the shower for a while and then followed her in there. He stepped in behind her without thought, placed kisses to her shoulders, across her neck.

Her eyes were closed when he’d entered the room, hair full of shampoo, and her hands were rubbing it as he’d crept into the shower and touched her and she’d shivered in surprise. “Oh, hello.”

“Sorry if I’ve been a jerk today.”

“I won’t hold it against you.”

He pressed tighter against her, holding her.

“You could make yourself useful,” she said, and he set to washing her from head to toe without question or complaint. This was his happy place, and that surprised him, because there was no offer of anything sexual, he just did it because he wanted to be close to her.

A revelation, to find out he could carry out a completely unselfish act.

*

He takes her to some seafood grill on the waterfront, heading into town, away from the resort, he figures they can be alone there and not worry about sly bastards snapping pictures.

She doesn’t mind, and he seems more relaxed now they’re out, holding her hand and leading her to their table as if he’s proud to have her on his arm. No sexy dress tonight, loose fitting trousers and a simple camisole, it’s hot enough during the evening to walk around without a jacket and he too is casual.

“I like this look on you,” she points out as they sit and scan the menu. “Very easy.” She’s fiddling with her necklace and unsure as to why she feels so unsettled tonight, why she can’t seem to calm herself.

“Now don’t go getting ideas,” he says, without looking up, “because I’m already spoken for.”

“Are you…?”

He closes his menu, “I’ve decided.”

“Earlier you said –,” she stops herself, bringing this up smacks of desperation and she is far from that. “Nothing. What shall we order?”

“Let’s share?” He offers.

“Okay.” She looks down, folding her ankles beneath the table. “Well, both the Beef and the Tuna Carpaccio I would go for.”

“Agreed, and Shrimp, and Tuna Spring roll,” he was tapping his finger down the list of appetisers in front of her.

“We won’t want the main meal.”

“And booze, cocktails, rum.”

“I’m off alcohol today.”

“The day is almost over; you can have a couple.”

She twists her mouth, sits back in her chair and surveys the view. It’s busy here, she can smell seafood in the air and its filled with chatter and the heat of couples and groups of friends gathering together. The bounce of Caribbean music somewhere in the background.

“I like this,” she says, “it’s very different from our usual establishments.”

“The pimped up gilded cages we inhabit,” he takes a sip of his water. “Don’t you find it all so fucking fragile, like if anyone dared to step outside their accepted roles at these bullshit cocktail parties we have to ‘mingle’ at the entire western hemisphere would implode.”

“Not a fan, Roman?”

He chuckles at her tone, “I would guess not.”

“So, there’s something I wanted to ask…” she starts, sitting forward, and then the waiter is there and Roman claps his hands together.

“Excellent, we’re starving.” She listens to him order the appetisers, tunes out for a while and then back in when he mentions her. “So, the lady wants mostly fish tonight – Lobster, Tuna, Sea Bass. Annnnddd…” he glanced at Gerri, “this Bikini Martini, keep them coming.”

She shook her head, “I’ll be no use to anybody when I get home.”

“Come on, you can’t not try something with a name like that, it’s made for you.”

Surprisingly he lifted her hand and kissed it.

“That was unexpected,” she said, taking her hand back, folding them beneath her chin as she watched him.

“What?”

“I got the distinct impression today you wanted to… I don’t know, break up with me?”

“Oh?” He felt flush at that, sat back in his chair and stretched his legs – _where were they with the fucking alcohol?_

“The thing about going steady, you laughed it off today, so I just wanted –,”

“Ah, I didn’t mean –,”

“No, listen, it’s fine if you want… look if this has proved that you were wrong and I was right.”

“In what sense?”

“In the sense that I said you wouldn’t want to commit to anything, you said you wanted to just date me. I didn’t ask for it Roman, but if you want to be released form that ‘promise’, well…” she held her hands out, “consider yourself free. I’m not your jailer.”

“Fuck me, could the floor open up and swallow me now.”

“It doesn’t have to be awkward –,”

“– This is fucking awkward.” He interrupted. “Look, oh thank Christ, drinks,” he sank half of his back in one go. “Bring two more straight away man, thanks. Look, Gerri.”

“I enjoy it when men start sentences that way, it makes me feel I’m going to be explained to, but do go on.” She sipped her drink, it was strong.

“You think I’m gonna mansplain or some shit, I’m really not.”

“Alright,” she raised her eyebrows as she watched him.

“Look, last night was fucking unbelievable,” he was whispering, leaning across to her, “I mean more than…”

“And today you got scared?” she finished. “I get that. Or I annoyed you, or bored you, or something, and you thought fuck I’m stuck with her. But this isn’t some backwater town and I’m not some Lucille-style-white-dress virgin. We had sex. It was good. You don’t have to marry me. Or even stay over. I’m a big girl, Roman, I’ve had enough practice at coping on my own.”

“Fuck-diggidy-doo,” he pushed his hands through his hair, “how’d we get onto this again?”

“Your mood today, I wanted to just clear the air, lay things out there.”

“Right.”

“So, we can move on. You can see other women.” She took another sip of her drink, she was hungry and it was going right to her head.

“Right…” he turned her words over his mind. “Forgive me, I’m just trying to make sense of all this here, women are an absolute mystery to me most of the fucking time.”

“This is not new information.”

“Yeah, so, but I’m not saying I _do_ want to see other women.”

She frowned, “Then I’m very confused about the earlier comments.”

“I’m confused about life. Look, here’s the deal,” he laid his hands on the table, “I did get spooked.”

“About what?”

He was hesitant to tell her – it felt like it would open up something unmanageable and he didn’t want her to back off because of it. “Remember we had that photo taken last night, and whichever asshole it was that used my phone and did it also sent it to himself.”

That shocked her, and her brain immediately started processing, “Okaaay.”

“And, Christ I don’t remember how or anything, we were pissed right. But I got a text this morning informing me that the photo was being passed round for the highest bidder.”

“A-ha.” She turned her tongue over in her mouth. “From who?”

“Shiv.”

“Right. So you’re telling me Shiv knows.”

“Shiv knows. And she asked me if I wanted the story released or not. And I said… look Gerri I said not. I said kill it.”

“I see.”

“But it’s not because of you.”

“Clearly.”

“It’s because I’m a fucking gimp who doesn’t know when he’s got it good.”

She was moving into work mode now, her brain already tracking through a mental list of tasks. “Do I need to be doing something about this? Clean up?”

“No. It’s handled. It’s gone.”

“But clearly more than Shiv must know, obviously, because they would have been involved in removing the story or just the guys who were discussing the cost of the picture.”

“I wonder how much we would’ve got,” he said as an afterthought, already halfway down his second martini. “What we’re worth.”

“Me, not very much. You, few thousand I’d say. But together, the gossip, the implication of you fucking a work colleague of my level!” Suddenly a thousand implications rained down on her and she felt very angry and very lost. She threw her napkin to the table, “I’m going to the bathroom, excuse me.”

“Ohh fuck,” he muttered to himself, sliding his phone out of his pocket.

**_> Picture?_ **

**> Gone. Don’t worry, they’re too strung up with theft to try anything.**

**_> Dad…?_ **

**> None the fucking wiser.**

**_> Thanks. Not ready for his wrath yet._ **

**> You’re welcome. She worth it…?**

He thinks on that, chews it over, watches her worried expression as she heads back across the restaurant towards him.

**_> Absolutely._ **

“Well, Roman,”

“Don’t do that tone,” he said, “it’s a kind of telling off serious tone. Do the other tone, the one where you’re flirty and soft with me.

“I don’t feel all that flirty and soft tonight. You should’ve told me.”

“I handled it.”

“I might have liked to know.”

“I’ve just told you.”

“Pushed into it.”

“Let’s not argue, Christ I want to… Look, let’s just forget it.” He held his phone up to her. “It’s a great photo, you look gorgeous, I look like some happy-go-lucky kid who just discovered he actually owns a dick and can use it.”

She giggles at that, despite her mood – how does he have this effect on her? How has she allowed him to somehow wheedle his way into her emotions to such an extent that she would risk so much after all these years of playing it excruciatingly safe?

“Come on, I make you laugh, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And I don’t wanna be going out banging some other woman. I’ve had a bad day; I said some shit I didn’t mean and I’m sorry.”

“You’ve used that word twice on me today.”

“Well it probably doubles the amount of times I’ve used it on women. Gerri,” he set his phone down on the table, pressed his hand over hers. “You’re special, you make me feel… stuff… let’s just go with that.”

She raised her eyebrows, “Stuff?”

“I’m an idiot.”

She chewed on her bottom lip.

“Come on, this is where you agree and tell me I am an idiot. A total fuck up.”

She nodded, but didn’t speak.

She sighed heavily, “You can’t act like a child,” she said. “You have to, if we’re going to be anything, then you have to tackle things as an adult, which primarily means talking to me. I know you might worry about how your family and friends view me, but I have family and friends too, Roman, and you have to remember that. You’ve been different since Turkey.”

“Don’t bring that up.”

“I’m just saying, it’s built up this year, the change in you, the spoilt brat being edged out. I’ve liked it.”

He puffs his chest out at that.

“Don’t play, I’m being serious. Something happened, I don’t know what, you started to care, or the trouble with Kendall or the rocket business or Turkey, I’m not sure.”

“You,” he said, “you happened.”

“It was before we…” she blushed, “before the whole phone thing.”

“It _was_ before that. You spoke to me like an adult, remember, in Japan, we ended up going to eat together most nights.”

“A-ha.”

“And you would talk to me, like I was a grown up in the room.”

“You are.”

He paused when their appetisers arrived, he was ravenous when he ordered, now he was contemplating how best to explain himself.

“You involved me in the decisions, listened, didn’t automatically assume everything I say is bollocks.”

“You have good ideas.”

“Yeah, and you told me that. It’s like you’re not game playing or anything. And then you cared, asked me how I was, checked in. Like nobody does that, nobody.”

She stared at him, breathing deeply.

“So, I’m sorry if I acted childishly today – that’s three times – I would never embarrass you in front of people or anything. Not on purpose anyhow.”

She was right, he hadn’t considered that side of things, her children, her friends, how they’d view him and his actions. It was overwhelming, to realise that making a commitment to be with someone meant committing to their life as well.

“Oh dear,” she picked up her fork. “This is my own fault for getting involved in such a fucked-up family. Eat your dinner.”

“I don’t know where we are, where we stand.”

“Me neither. Apparently not going home early, not seeing other people but not talking about it publicly.” She finished her drink. “Roman, do you realise how much it might cost me, to involve myself with you, did you ever consider that?”

He hadn’t.

“I’ve never been very good at not being selfish. Never been very good at much at all.”

“That’s not true and you have to stop thinking that. I’m here for you, regardless of whether this is a sexual relationship or not. I’ll always be there to support you. But doing this, crossing that line with you… honestly at times I sit and think about it and…”

“You’ve made a major fucking mistake?”

“Perhaps.”

“Right,” he nodded sadly.

“But I made that choice for a reason, I’m not some lovelorn schoolgirl being swept away, I made a conscious choice because of the –,” she paused, unsettled within herself about how much to reveal. “Roman I made the choice because of how I feel about you. I’m not stupid. I’ve crafted my career to go the way I wanted. Sleeping with you could be a major fucking mistake because it could bring it all crashing down.” She shrugged. “But I made that choice, am continuing to make that choice, because I care for you and I think we have something… some odd chemistry I can’t quite explain. I’m intrigued by it, by you, and none of it makes sense but I’m willing to work our way through it and see where it leads. I’m willing to take the risk and hope for the fucking best. But none of us really know, do we, where things will lead. We just try our best.”

He felt this rush of feeling for her, attraction, adoration, respect all at once filling his body. It was like having the spotlight on him in the best possible way.

“But you must understand the risk I’m taking, and that I can only continue to do that if you’re completely honest with me.”

“Yes.” He nodded, his voice a shadow, “I see that. And I will.” He toyed with the stem of his martini glass, almost afraid to look at her. “So, this is what adulting is, then?”

“I guess so.”


	4. Chapter 4

They fall into a more comfortable pattern over the coming days. Breakfast together, then she works, and he disappears off to do something ridiculous like kite surfing or fly boarding. The adrenaline is a good outlet and he begins to understand what she means about ‘give and take’ – he wants to be with her, he doesn’t need to be with her all the time.

He feels childish when he thinks on that behaviour – the constant messages and gifts, this overwhelming outpouring of attention – it makes him feel silly and uneasy with himself.

But there is no judgement from her, no sentence being passed and the more he reflects on that the more he realises this is probably her most attractive feature. She has seen more of him than most – the darker sides of him, the useless side of him, the fuck-up side and yet she stays. She’s always there when he calls, to call out his bullshit or offer him a supportive word. That needs to work both ways, she can’t just be his shoulder to cry on.

Relationships, he’s discovering, are a constant learning curve.

She is usually reading in the afternoon when he returns enthused and full of himself. She can get him to settle then with a cold beer, lounge in his hammock, occasionally he’ll read some of the books she got him, and there’s this placid calm that has descended now they’re learning how to live with one another without getting in each other’s way.

There has been no more from Shiv, and it’s easy then to forget people outside of the two them know what’s going on. And he revels in that little bubble they’ve created; nobody can damage it or tarnish it.

“You’ll come though, when I go again next week, join us on the sailboat and watch?”

“If you really want me to, then yes.”

“Want you to film it, going to upload it to my Instagram.”

“Lord above.”

“Hey, I’ve got a cult following.”

“Oh, I’m quite sure of that. Not as sure where I fit in with Instagram, fly boards and the woke community.”

“I think it’d be seen as ‘woke’ for us to be together.” He nudged her arm, “Non-traditional, fucking-is-fucking type thing.”

“You know your list of positives is gradually shrinking.”

“Wait until you see me fucking kill this board thing. It’ll turn you on, it’s like the ultimate in creating dick envy.”

She turned her head to regard him, “Men continue to be a great source of wonder for me. I mean, it’s just so difficult to pinpoint what it is that actually drives you.”

He laughed at that.

Another languid afternoon, they are lying on the sand in the shallow water, gentle waves trickling into shore, her hat is over her face and the water tickles back and forth, over her feet, up her legs. She can feel his upper arm pressed against hers, his hand reflecting the movement of the water as he traces his fingers back and forth over her hip as they chat.

“I like this beard thing you’ve got going on.”

“You do.”

“A-ha. Very rugged. Like puberty hit.”

“Oh very funny, you know there’s a meme for that, baby face idiot of the Roys.”

She rubbed his arm, her tone sarcastic, “Definitely baby face, not an idiot.”

“Think I should keep it?” He asked, rubbing his chin.

“It does give you a certain charm.

“You meant to say ‘yet another charm’ I think.”

She smirks, tipping her head back to look at the sky, another flawless afternoon of blue skies and sunshine.

She wonders what he did to prepare for this trip, it is ever the way with men, she rushing to tidy everything up work-wise, home-wise, and then booking herself in for a manicure, pedicure, waxing, eyebrows, and that wonderful special facial she has that adds just that zest of tightness to her skin without making her looking like a fucking barbie doll. Men turn up. Done.

He did book it though, she’ll give him that, organised all the little activities. In all her years of marriage she can’t recall Baird ever organising any of their vacations.

“I sometimes wonder why I got married,” she says so gently he only just hears her.

“Can’t imagine it,” he replies after a while, his voice sleepy. “Marriage - murder, could be interchangeable m words.”

“Didn’t you propose to me?”

“I’ve proposed to almost every girlfriend.”

“Excuse me!” She turned her head, wide-eyed, lifting her hat up on one side. “I thought you were pledging yourself to me forever, I don’t usually do sex outside of matrimony, I’m only here on this fucking trip because I thought we were going to marry.”

For a split-second he stared at her school ma’am expression, “Fuck off!” He exploded and she laughed, leaning into him and gripping his arm as she kissed his cheek.

“I think I had you though.”

He pulled her to him, kissed her forehead, until she settled against him, her head resting on his shoulder, it was close but not too much, not like she was pressed against his chest, against his heart.

She pushed her hat off, let it fall to the sand.

“So, why’d you get married then?” He asked.

She breathed deeply, chewed on her bottom lip as she thought it through. “I honestly have no clear answer. You know how you’re kind of, how you kind of like, you’re brought up to think that marriage and babies is what good girls do.”

“I wouldn’t describe you as a ‘good girl’.”

“I might have been, at one point, maybe you awful people changed me.”

“Or you found where you belonged. Sucked into the jaws of hell! A willing disciple.”

“Or that.”

“What was it like though, I don’t recall you ever seeming unhappy or…”

“Don’t give me that bollocks, you can’t even remember Baird.”

He nodded at that; he really was a selfish bastard at times but maybe it was progress to recognise that in himself.

“It was fine, he was nice, we got on.”

“That sounds very fucking polite.”

“Well, I mean, it was. He worked hard, I learned a lot from him, moving from law to the business world – that was invaluable, having his input, watching how he did things, finding my own way to do it.”

“Like the ninja silent assassin thing you’ve got going on.”

“Yeah. That.” She stretched. “We never did this.” She admitted, the sun had shifted in the afternoon sky and she could look out to sea now without blinking or shielding her face. “There was never time to just lie on a beach together, there was hardly enough time for the kids, hence them hating me.”

“They won’t.”

“Oh I think they already do. ‘Frosty’ is the word I’d use – Christ knows what they’d make of all this. You and I.” She started to sit, rolling her shoulders.

“You think they’d be disgusted?” he traced his index finger down her spine. “Disturbed?”

“Maybe. Or not give a shit, which I suppose is either a win or lose depending on how you view the situation.” She pushed her hands down her legs, rolling the grains of sand between her fingertips and her shins. “They could be so detached from me that they don’t care what the fuck I do.”

“They see you in Washington, watch the coverage, I mean?”

She shook her head. “It’s fine. They have their own lives; we communicate when need be.”

“Odd thing though, hey, must be, to have been pregnant and then to bring someone up and then just be… like, it must be odd, that.”

“I wouldn’t fully commit to claiming I ‘brought them up’.” She glanced over her shoulder at him, “That’s a deep thought for you.”

“I’m not a total cretin. I sometimes wish I had a better relationship with my mother but she was never… what’s the word?”

“Maternal,” she suggested; she knew Caroline well, her particular brand of motherhood wasn’t what she would have wished for anyone and coupled with Logan as a father she had always felt for the Roy children in that regard. “Perhaps I was no better.” She stated. “Especially as my career got going, as a woman you can’t –,” she paused, stretched her back again. “If there’s a late meeting you’ve got to be there, if there’s a last-minute flight to Paris for emergency talks and then straight on to Moscow, you’ve got to be there. If you aren’t in the room you aren’t part of the conversation. Your face needs to be seen. But that doesn’t fit well with reading bedtime stories and attending school plays. Baird was a bit better at it all, the nannies even more so.”

“Yeah. I know that feeling. You ever, well, regret it?”

She turned on the sand, tucking one leg beneath her and resting her hand on his flat stomach, “You look very content there, very tanned and handsome.”

“Thanks.”

She chewed on her lip as she stared at him, he made her reveal things, confront things, she’d always sidestepped. Maybe that was good for her, he certainly seemed to be.

“It’s going to make me sound like an awful human being.”

“Hey, you’re talking to the master,” he was concentrating on her hand tracing patterns over his skin.

“I don’t regret it,” she said, almost a confession, her voice low and heavy. “I should do, I know that, but the whole thing just makes me feel very… numb, I feel numb about it. If I was meant to be a mother then I wouldn’t, I’d feel bad, but I don’t. But I justify my absence with the life I gave them, the access, the education, the careers they have now and the lifestyles. And I can hear myself saying this and know its superficial bollocks –,”

“Mm, to some extent but still –,”

“Yeah, to an extent. Because I don’t know what life would be like if I hadn’t worked, would it have made me a better mother?” she shrugged, “Not necessarily. We aren’t all meant to do it. Perhaps I shouldn’t have. But Baird wanted children. And I feel bad now that he died fairly young and didn’t get to see them grow up, be a Grandfather, all of that.”

“He was older than you, right?”

“Yes, a bit. I cared very much for him, loved him – maybe it wasn’t…”

“I never meant to imply you didn’t, what the fuck I know about anything?”

“Love doesn’t always have to be some ridiculous powerful consuming thing.” She said, almost to herself. “I would never have left him or risked anything. But I’ve always been a workaholic, and I think that worsened as I got older, didn’t ease off as maybe he expected it to. I’m not the sentimental type, Roman.”

“I know. I like that. _Stone cold killer bitch…_ ” He gave her one of his trademark smirks which made her smile.

“I really should get that on my office door, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely, put it on your business cards.”

A moment of levity in the midst of a potentially revealing moment.

“I don’t feel bad about it.” She admitted. “I should, but I don’t. Maybe you’re right, maybe I am cold.”

“You aren’t. I speak from personal experience.” His hand is over hers, and she turns hers over, folds her fingers with his.

She can’t answer the question around that, or maybe she just doesn’t want to, not yet. He has potentially unlocked some part of her where others couldn’t; this cheeky ragtag man-child who she has watched flit about for years trying to get his father’s positive attention.

“What is it about you…?” She asked, her eyes narrowing, half-joking, half-not.

There was no concrete reason she could pin down and identify as the one-discernible thing that had made her throw caution to the wind. Not just on the yacht, not just the moment they first had sex, but the moment she accepted his late-night calls and didn’t hang up in disgust; the moment she walked into a room just to see how he was doing and fastened his buttons. This had come from somewhere, it unnerved her, and yet it was delicious at the same time and she’d always thrived on challenge and excitement.

“My natural powerful seductive powers,” he said, “I just had to turn them on you.” He clicked his fingers.

“Well, clearly.”

She turned away from him again as if she were thinking. He let her, was content just to be for a while, he lifted his hand to her back, traced patterns along her creamy skin.

He watched as she pushed the arms of her swimsuit down, and then further until her breasts were free and it was bunched around her middle.

“You have tan lines,” he said.

“My face looks very brown,” she pointed out. “And yours, we need a plan for going back, like I go back Monday, you fly in later.”

He couldn’t see the point all that much – Shiv knew, the office would know, they had to think about it from that direction, not try to cover it up.

“Maybe we just don’t try to hide it. Just get on with things normally, never mention it, never acknowledge it. Just…” he made some movement with his hand that seemed to suggest they walk somewhere over her shoulder.

“You’ve changed your tune.”

“Mm, time to think, I’m still working through it all, you know. Turning it over.”

“You’re like a fucking washing machine, new cycle every day.”

“Never dull though, hey,” he leant up a little, kissed her bare back.

“Bloody exhausting, that’s what you are. You think we’re completely away from prying eyes here?”

“Money it’s cost you’d think so, and that email you sent to the manager…” he rolled his eyes, “fucking dragon at work!”

“Well, one expects privacy on a private holiday.”

“That guy who keeps peering from the boat with his binoculars is getting a good view of your nipples right about now.”

“Oh, piss off,” she turned around, smiling at him.

“I like this,” he admitted, “didn’t think I would. Talking’s never been high on my list of priorities, listening even less so.”

“God, what a total pair of fuck-ups we are. The blind leading the bloody blind. Neither one of us fit to run any type of relationship. Both emotionally… well, damaged or missing a chip of some kind.”

“Emotion chip?” He smiled, “I like that. I wonder if you can buy them – mine’s faulty.”

She turned around, on her knees, leaning over him.

“This is a first,” he whispered, capturing her mouth with his.

“Do you mean for us, or you in general?”

“A first for me. Never had sex in the surf.”

“I’m glad I can still provide points of interest,” she was fiddling with the bottom half of her swimsuit, trying to free herself of it. “This did not go as sexily as I had hoped.”

“Even goddesses like yourself struggle with wet lycra,” he half sat up, easily pushing down his own swimwear.

“Definitely no staff around, are there?” She asked, leaning over him again.

“Fuck it if there are, come on, climb aboard.” He joked.

“This was meant to be a sensual thing, not a rush job quickie. I have standards.”

“Don’t I know it,” he placed his hands on her hips.

“You know what I like about you,” she said, lounging between his legs now, his mouth already on that spot on her neck he knew she liked.

“I feel there are several, but continue.”

“I suggest sex, you pounce on the idea.” She sighed deeply, lifting herself a little, directing his mouth to the right place. “I feel like this is what you get dating a younger man, much harder with an older guy, to…” she sighed again, moaned, “…get going.”

“I’m going to have to push that particular line of thought – but it can wait ten minutes.”

She pulled her head back, gasping, “Ten minutes!”

And he laughed as he flipped them over, taking the opportunity to move easily between her thighs.

“Sex on the beach in broad daylight…”

“It’ll seem a world away when we’re back in that ball-sack of a boardroom.” He moved his mouth down her neck, followed the path of freckles down between her breasts. “We should decorate, liven it up.”

“No.”

“Some bright colours. Not this fucking grey box.”

“No.”

“Some artwork or something…”

She raked her hand through his hair, yanked his head back, “Stop talking and fuck me.”

“I’m stretching it out to reach the ten-minute mark.”

She laughed at that, her smile making her face light up, and he moved down her body – slid his mouth down between her breasts, over her belly until he was kneeling between her legs. He took hold of her legs, lifted one to his shoulder, kept his eyes on hers as he kissed her thigh and then down to the space behind her knee and she shuddered at that so he spent longer on it – his tongue working in circles.

That sweet pleasure was creeping over her skin like silk, delicious and intoxicating, spinning a web inside her.

He moved lower, took hold of her ankles, one in each hand, and bent to kiss her feet reminding her of that long, slow moment on the yacht. Then she yelped in surprise and excitement as he tugged her further down the sand and the water rushed about their bodies. She felt the wave slide beneath her back, saltwater splashing up her shoulders, droplets landing on her face.

She noted the naughty-boy expression, his eyes dark and turning over with desire like molten chocolate. She licked her lips, another wave rolled over them and it occurred to her the rhythm was rather perfect.

Her fingers itched for him, and she held her arms down towards him until he crawled over her again, settling against her body as easily as the water rushed to shore. She laid her fingertips on his lips, let him nibble on them, suck on them, until he lowered his mouth to hers.

The sound of her name in his mouth was still a turn-on, the way she could lift one leg and hook it over his and he’d drive forward, hips jerking, body desperate to be part of hers. Her sure hand between their bodies stroking him – she could be slow and certain, draw it out, or fast, abrupt, depending on the mood. She had but one husband, but lovers were a different thing, and in every aspect of life she was patient and observant, and once she’d learnt something she never forgot.

There in the afternoon sun, with the saltwater in her hair, she was desperately slow – as if they were china, as if holding him was like crafting the finest artwork. She took her time, she made him wait, stroking him almost to climax and then slowing it all over again. He enjoyed the tease, the game.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he panted against her neck, and she wondered if he even knew what he was saying, or if they were just hurried whispered words embroiled in passion.

It was a gift when she guided him inside her, slick and hot, filling her, filling him. Complete.

*

“When was the last time you went on a date?” He asked, his head on her stomach lying at a perpendicular angle to her.

“It’s tough to have to tell you but the day before we came here.”

“What the fuck? Who with?”

“With whom? And I’m joking,” she patted his head, “there, there, jealous puppy. Before you, before the yacht thing, I would say maybe a week or so before that.”

“And who was he?”

“It could’ve been a woman for all you know.”

He lifted his head up, pushing his sunglasses off, “You’ve fucked a woman?”

“The leaps your brain makes,” she pushed his shoulders until he laid down again. “And no comment on that.”

“Christ that’s hot.”

“You make your own stories up.”

“These aren’t stories, these are non-stop porn channels playing out. Maybe it’s somebody from the office, maybe I could match you up.”

“I can only cope with one office fuck-buddy at a time, thanks.”

He laughed, digging his hands into the sand and letting the damp grains slip through his fingers. “Who then?”

“A very respectable man.”

“That’s all I get to know? You dated him more than once?”

“Yes.”

“How often?”

“You’re very nosey,” she sighed but continued anyway, “six or seven times.”

“What? You fuck him?”

“Roman!”

“Come on, third date, that’s the rule isn’t it? Depending on where he took you to, I mean if it’s some top level cost a mint establishment that’s at least a blow job.”

“At some point in our evolution we passed through the gate marked ‘Roman can talk to Gerri in inappropriate ways’, and I green-lighted it without noting the consequences.”

He turned himself over so he could see her, chin on her belly. “Were they good dates?”

“They were acceptable dates; I was only just getting to know him.”

“Someone set you up?”

“A friend.”

“Is he a lawyer?”

“No.”

“Money, erm, real estate, arty type, investor or…”

“I’m not telling you who.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll google him and likely send obscene messages.”

“I could send him the red dress picture so he knows what he’s missing out on.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say.”

“I am terrible. Why you stop seeing him?”

She bit her lip, her eyes flashing, “Something happened on a yacht trip.”

“Ahhh. Me.” He felt triumphant at that. “Better dater?”

“Getting there…” she admitted.

He tiptoed his fingers up her body, “Better shagger?”

“Roman…” she watched the palm of his hand press over her breast, the way it fit so naturally. “…yes,” she admitted. “Marginally better.”

“Now I am jealous.”

“Of what?”

“That you were having sex with some random when I’d been chasing you all year.”

“Chasing me! I would have had to be some fucking mind reader to solve that puzzle and know what your intentions were.”

“Was the phone sex not enough?”

“Piss off.”

“How many times you and he… wait, did he need blue pills?”

“My god you’re insufferable,” she placed both hands on his shoulders shaking him. “Twice and I wouldn’t know because he was in the bathroom before we… maybe.” Her eyes flashed as she said it; she felt dangerous talking about things like this with him, like she was walking a fine line and would soon be caught out.

“You let him come in your hair?”

“I didn’t even let him come in me.”

“Gerri Kellman fucking badass bitch.”

“Shut up. Just because you had a rather sketchy sex life prior to me.”

“A non-existent one, let’s be honest, unless you count getting each other off as sex.”

“A sexual act,” she said. The water was splashing at her knees and she could taste salt in the air, on her lips, and the electricity between them, this frisson of tension and desire they both sparked off. He was always pushing her boundaries and she knew she was letting him.

“Tabitha…” She asks, the use of the one word some sort of question.

“She kind of got side-lined by someone else.”

She pursed her lips, “I feel a little bad about that, I liked her. She was good to you.”

“Yeah. But she got a good deal too.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

She sometimes thought he handed out thousand-dollar gifts like candy.

“You won’t miss it, her, I mean, being with her?”

“In what regard?”

She shrugged, playing with his hair again, “Statuesque blonde on your arm, I’m like 5,4.”

“See that’s the reason I picked you, I’ve got an inch, maybe an inch and half on you, its practically towering.”

“Not in heels.”

“Don’t fucking ruin the moment.”

“Hey, don’t send your small-man insecurities in my direction.”

His fingers tiptoed either side of her waist, “You’re asking for this.”

She grabbed at his hands, “Ah, no, not that.”

“I know your weak areas now.”

“This is some form of treason and you will be punished for it; I just want to lay that out there.”

“Alright,” he kissed her stomach, pressed his face against her and groaned. “You smell good all the time.”

“A-ha,” she pressed a hand to his shoulder, “And Tabitha?”

“Are we still on that?”

“You ended it nicely?”

“I ended it how I always do,” he mumbled into her belly before looking up, “by behaving like a total fucking ass-wipe.”

“I see. But she is clear it’s over?”

“She moved out of the fucking apartment; she knows it’s over.”

“Can I make a suggestion?”

“Go on.”

“When you end it with me don’t be an ass-wipe.”

He had thought about that, if it ever did get to the point where this was done for him how would he handle it?

“Just send me a text or something, a nice one that just says _‘Hey Ger, done with this whole thing now, sorry, was fun. Happy life._ ’ Don’t be a dick to me. Or you know, move on whilst you’re still boning me, that’s no fun for any woman regardless of age.”

“That’s a shit text.”

“Better than the alternative Roman behaviour.”

“You have a low reading of me.”

“I’ve seen you go through many a girl too.”

“I knew my history would be held against me.” He stretched on top of her. “Swim?”

“Yes.”

They both slowly sat, naked, covered in sand, hot in the afternoon sun.

“Why would you think I’d ever be ‘done’ with you?” He asked as he stood and she held her hand up for him to help her.

“That’s the way life goes.”

“Well, if we do ever, you know, splitsville, don’t go out with the accountant twat again.”

“Why?” She laughed as they waded into the sea together.

“Because you don’t deserve some tosser who can’t fuck you right, and he clearly wasn’t really ringing your bells.”

She laughed at that for a long time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you who have read and commented on this part of the story - it's wonderful to have interaction with you. On to the next one...

Waking is immediate and abrupt. As if somebody has just slapped her across the face.

She’s not sure initially why her brain is working when her body is still embedded in sleep. Her limbs feel heavy and docile, and if possible, she would simply close her eyes and drift off again. But there’s this noise bothering her; she knows something isn’t quite right but working through the fuzz in her brain to find the source isn’t easy.

Towards the end, Baird would wake her in the night calling out. It wasn’t particularly her he was calling for, just nonsensical ramblings, but she remembers that same cold prickle over her skin, the slightly sick sinking of the stomach when you’re exhausted and torn from slumber.

This is a different room. A different man.

Roman.

That dawns, and she makes herself wake now; it has only been seconds but feels like longer, she pushes herself up, the pillows behind her forming into one mass to support her back. They’ve been leaving the doors open, and she can smell the sea breeze filling the room, and in that dim light looks down at Roman.

He’s mumbling something, and she watches him, realises his eyes are still closed and this is a dream. His breathing is deep and laboured and although the bedsheets are pushed down to his waist his hands grip them, knuckles white from the exertion.

Now coherent, she figures it’ll pass, dreams do, and she’ll go back to sleep and let it be.

But then he shouts out, and it makes her heart thud, and his body squirms and twists in frustration and she realises that was what woke her, not the mumbled words.

Experience has taught her not to wake someone in the throes of a dream like this, but she can’t stop herself from reaching for him – her hand resting gently on his arm.

They’ve shared a bed many times now over the past months but she has never known him wake her because of a nightmare.

“Roman,” she whispered; they weren’t drunk when they’d gone to bed, a couple of glasses of wine with dinner and then they’d explored the city and walked it off before returning late to the villa.

She leans close to him, a hand still on his arm, the other coming to rest on his chest “Rome…”

He jolts at her touch. Seems to race to grab hold of whomever is touching him, and before she can react he’s grabbed her wrist and holds it in a vice-like grip.

She gasps. Her other hand comes to free the one he’s holding, and he’s strong beneath her now, his entire body seemingly pushing away someone or something.

And then she can see the flash of light as his eyes open – wide, dark, spaced-out.

“Roman.” Her voice is calm but hard, and as he gradually adjusts to consciousness he realises he’s holding her and quickly drops her arm.

She can already feel the tight band of finger marks forming around her wrist and rubs at it to ease the soreness. He isn’t moving, but she can see the rise and fall of his chest as he struggles to calm his breathing.

“How can I help?” She asks tentatively, “What do you want me to do?”

A quick shake of his head, his eyes glancing away rather than focus on hers, “Nothing.”

“Does this… I mean, do you… happen often?” She rests her hand on his upper arm again, can feel the slick of sweat beneath her palm; it was a mistake, as soon as she touched him he jolted upright in the bed and pulled away from her; putting as much distance between them as he can as he leaves the room and disappears into a bathroom along the hall.

She is by nature a private person, and so she understands perfectly the need for some form of distance at a moment like this – an odd mix of vulnerability and feeling embarrassed.

She straightens the bedding, plumps the pillows and stands at the open door with a bottle of water.

In the distance she can hear the sound of running water and realises he’s in the shower so she returns to bed, twists onto her usual side and prepares to go back to sleep.

But the water goes on. Three times she glances to the clock. And it goes on.

There’s this ridiculous list of conclusions being drawn, yet she is frustrated too, tired and tetchy. Nevertheless, she kicks her feet free of the bedsheets and gets up again. It’s 3:07 and her head is starting to vibrate.

The air conditioning is icy in the hallway, and she wraps her arms around herself, the silk nightdress she’s wearing is of no use really.

Things that in the past would have bothered her in relationships – shared space and demanding signs of commitment – are not an issue with Roman. He likes his own bathroom, privacy, so does she. If he needs his space he pisses off to do some stupid water sport thing and she can work without feeling guilty for bringing it on vacation. He hasn’t started making silly pledges or empty promises.

The downside of that is she feels a bit like she’s crossing a line when she follows him in there. Like checking up on him. It makes her feel uncomfortable, so she stays by the door, figures she’ll take a quick look around it to check he’s okay and then go back to bed.

Only he doesn’t seem okay. He’s sitting on the floor of the shower, forehead resting on his knees, and shivering.

Without much thought she goes in, leans into the shower and switches off the cold water.

“Roman,” she is practical now, organised, taking a towel and bending to drape it over him. “Can you get up for me, let me get you dry?”

He barely looks up at her and she wonders how often this happens, if these nightmares that get him into this state are a regular thing – no wonder he prefers to sleep alone.

“Rome…” She places her hand to his face, making him look at her. Her voice tender. “Can you get up?”

He seems to see her for the first time, her face by his, and there’s this fleeting look of terror and for the briefest moment she thinks he will fight her, push her away – maybe that’s always been his way.

In the bedroom he allows her to dry him, to lay him down again.

“Do you want to sleep alone?” She whispers but he shakes his head

She lies on her back next to him, waits until she’s sure he’s sleeping before she allows her eyes to close.

*

Roman wakes feeling hungover, a heavy head, aching shoulders. Alone in bed he watches the patterns of light across the ceiling, the turquoise of the pool shining shards of glass-like light into the room.

Everything is silent and the room smells of Gerri; the bed is warm like Gerri. He doesn’t want to leave it.

There’s a languid plod to his walk as he heads outside; he can see her along the decking that leads into the sea, it’s breezy and her hair blows from beneath her hat as she reads.

“Hi,” he feels like a foolish schoolboy, hiding behind dark glasses, standing there in his shorts.

“Well, hello.” She marks the place in her book, slips her glasses off so she can look up at him. “You slept late.”

“Sorry.” He sinks into the other chair, picks up her glass and drinks the juice in it.

“You want something to eat?”

“Err, I don’t feel particularly hungry. No.”

“Perhaps not. But it’ll be good for you, maybe some eggs,” she’s already putting her book down, leaning forward to get up.

“I don’t fucking need anything, jeez, talk about feeling suffocated. Like my mother.”

She sits back slowly, and he hates himself immediately.

“I’m sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean…” he covers his face, as if to hide himself. “I don’t mean that.”

“I’ll let it slide.” She leans back, closes her eyes and lifts her face up to the sun. “Last morning to do this,” she says instead.

When she crosses her legs the kimono she’s wearing slips and he rests his hand on her bare knee.

“Look, I don’t talk about this shit.”

“Did I ask you to?”

He doesn’t answer; maybe she hasn’t asked it of him, but it’s in her eyes, the tone of her voice.

“It’s just a nightmare.”

“A-ha, I figured that bit out.” She pauses for a moment, watches his thumb stroking her knee. How bronzed his body is, how healthy. “But one you have regularly?”

He shoots her a look and for a second she thinks he’ll close up again, grunt or sulk and disappear off somewhere. But he doesn’t.

“For years.”

“And it always has that… effect?” she has moved her hand, trails her fingers up his arm where he is still touching her knee. It is a careful move, easing him into this, making it as gentle as she can.

“Yes.”

“And you’ve spoken of it, with your therapists I mean?”

He shrugs.

“Roman. It would seem to me talking about this with them is exactly what you should be doing.”

“Makes me some fucking weak ninny. Not able to –,” he shakes his head, looks away from her.

“Admitting you’re scared of something doesn’t make you weak.”

“Who said I’m scared?”

“It was in your voice, last night, I know what fear is.”

She also thinks she knows the cause, the root of it all, very well. She has been in the room on more than one occasion when Logan has physically struck him, god knows how many times she hasn’t witnessed. She’s dwelt on it on many times over the years, questioning the reasoning behind it – was Roman always just the little whipping boy? Was it the role he was born to play? It couldn’t be Kendall (the would-be King), nor Shiv (she’s female), but Roman – the cheeky whip-smart lad who always has a smart mouth ripe for being slapped in.

Does it make him a man to do it?

The whole issue of masculinity is something she’s had to live and work with; Roman isn’t like that, he seems to want to search out some version of masculinity he thinks his father will respect – the hot girls, the quick fix deal, the big displays of achievement – but in his heart, that isn’t him. She wonders if he realises that if he simply let that go and stopped trying so damned hard to be Logan’s idea of what makes a man, he’d possibly find contentment in himself.

“So I arranged something for today, before lunch, if you’d like to join me.” She starts, changing the focus.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You know I like to ride, and don’t make any fucking jokes, when we go out to the Hamptons I always enjoy the horses.”

“I had noticed that, yeah.” He finishes her juice.

“So, horse riding, along the beach. You fancy it?”

“Sure. Sounds good.”

“Good.” She unfolded her legs and his hand slipped from her knee. “Be good to enjoy the fresh air before the city.” They’ll be on the flight home by that time tomorrow.

“Back to the fucking bear pit. You know I’ve got to fly to DC?”

“I did see that, yes.”

“Probably get an hour to grab a bag and then I’ve got to meet fucking Jamie and Karl and fly over. I can tell you, you’re a better travel companion.”

“I should think so,” she leans in closer to him, kisses the side of his mouth.

“You think Jamie’s hot?”

“Wha… what?” She is shaking her head. “Where’d that come from?”

“Jamie, I reckon he’s been spunking off over you. He’s a big guy, reckon he’s probably got a really big –”

She holds her hands up, “Please don’t finish that train of thought.”

“Just saying. He’s there for the taking, should you fancy a slice of pie.”

“Are you trying to move me on?”

He shrugged, “Just giving you options.”

“I’m rather enjoying what I’ve got.” She sat back again, but his hand was still in hers. “Besides, been there a looong time ago.”

He almost exploded. “You fucked Jamie?!”

“Christ no, standards! But he did… make moves, shall we say? Made it clear it was there if I fancied it.”

“Sly old bastard. He’s married, isn’t he.”

“They always are.”

“How’d I not know all this stuff about you beforehand?”

She slipped the kimono she was wearing down her arms, “Because, as I’ve told you, I keep things very close to my chest. It pays to have other people’s secrets; it doesn’t pay for them to have yours. Reputation is everything. No skeletons in the closet, then they can’t do you any damage.”

“I’m starting to think you’re far too smart for me.”

She chuckles at that and he stands as she does.

“Just remember that this is top drawer stuff, not like you, fucking open book.”

“Oh I know, feel like I’m getting briefed on the world’s secrets.”

“Only mine,” she pressed her hands to his shoulders, leaned in and kissed him. “I’m going to swim for a while.”

“I’ll join you.” He gripped hold of her ass, held her tight to him, kissed her properly, his tongue pushing against hers until she laughed at the sensation. “Fuck Jamie!” he said against her mouth.

“Quite.”

They dived into the water together.

*

“You know what I like about you,” he said over dinner that night.

“Oh wait, I do know this.” She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “So, number one, my hair.”

His smile was glorious and he rested his chin on his hands to listen to her, to watch her, she was animated and enjoying herself and it felt like a privilege to be in her company.

“Number two, my badass bitch ways. Number three, my fucking phone voice, clearly, going on the amount of hours we’ve clocked up playing stroke the sausage.”

“Fuck me…” he laughed.

“Number, what am I on?” she took a sip of her Martini, “four, erm, oh I know, my gold-dust _pussy_.” she mouthed at him. “What else have you said? My charming turn of phrase. Is that five?”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m tipsy, that’s different. I’ll be better once we’ve eaten the main course.”

“I did actually have an answer prepared but Madam Vitriolic took over.”

“Please, take the floor, be my guest.”

“I can’t be serious now. I keep thinking of sausages.”

“Should I have said monkey, or what else do people say…”

“Don’t fucking say any of those things. Jesus, cringe.”

“You won’t be saying that next week when you’re in Washington and, I assume, ringing me of an evening to give you a good telling off.”

He took the Martini glass away. “Listen –,”

“ _Hi Ger, so, I’m in my hotel room and I’ve been a rather bad boy today_ …”

“Stop!”

She laughed, chuckled even, and it was cute to see. Pressing her hand over his on the table, “You know what?”

“What?”

“I like it too,” she whispered. “I like listening to you lose control. Gives me an element of power.”

“You ever erm,” he glanced down her body, “you know, when we’re, on the phone and what have you?”

“That’s for me to know.”

“I feel like we should maybe progress from phone to facetime, so I can watch.”

She pressed the olive from her Martini glass into her mouth, sucked on her fingers, held his gaze as she did so.

“There’s a games room in the villa, did you know that?” She asks.

“I did, actually, why – you wanna play?”

“Wouldn’t mind a game of pool when we get back.”

“You like playing with balls?”

She reached across and took his glass of whisky from his hand, raising it to him, “I set that one up for you.”

“I know, and I just hit it right out of the park.”

She giggled, stretching her legs. “Shall we order dessert tonight?”

“We could. But you never have dessert.”

“Mmm, I try to avoid it. I’m a bit of a chocoholic, you see, so I avoid it because if I start I can’t stop. That sounds a bit like how I am with you now.” She drained his whisky.

“I’m a chocolate treat?”

“Something like that.” She put the glass down, leaning forward, running her finger around the top of the glass, her hair golden in the candlelight. “Or we could order to the villa? Have dessert there whilst we play…pool.”

“Final night treat?”

“A-ha.”

His mouth twisted into a grin, “You wanna cover bits of me in chocolate – is that your plan?”

She screwed her nose up, “Far too messy. We could feed each other chocolate dipped things though….”

“I know exactly what I’m gonna dip.”

They were giggling together, leaning in close over the table, when their mains arrived. She found herself blushing, leaning back as the waiters served, her cheeks pink and flushed, the trail of it creeping down her neck. How easy she let herself go these days – she kept telling herself it was the vacation vibe, that come Monday she’d be back in work mode; but the truth was, she didn’t really want to let go of this feeling.

*

“You don’t ask for much, do you?” He noted, perching on the edge of the pool table

“To win,” she bent, lining up her shot. “Shift your ass out of the way.”

“I’m not even in line of fire.”

“You might be, now, fuck off.” She hit her ball. “I like to win.”

“That’s not new information,” he moved around the table, mentally weighing up his options. “It wasn’t what I meant though. I meant from me.”

“Do you want me to request something?”

“I just find you easy is all.” He said.

“Erm, in what regard?” She was frowning over the top of her wine glass.

“To be with. You’re not playing games, I mean, apart from pool obviously.” He hit his ball which skimmed along the side of the cushion.

“And I think I’ll win at that too.”

“Never was much good at it.”

“You should like it; you could be good at it. Take your time, see the angles. And I don’t need anything from you.”

“Apart from my dick, clearly.”

“Well, obviously!”

“I wasn’t thinking in terms of material goods,” he said, watching how she played, the time she took, the way she calculated it. “I was thinking more of the kinds of demands women make of men.”

She looked up over her glasses as she bent over the table, “Men of course ask for very little.”

“Women always want to worm their way into my head. Solve me.”

“U-huh, and you don’t enjoy that?”

“I don’t like being seen as a pet project.”

“Funny, that’s exactly how I viewed you, somebody to mould, shape.”

“You did?” He can’t help but feel hurt by that, as if she’s speared him. “So, you er, you – this was purely a business enterprise?”

She stands straight now by the side of the table, leaning on her cue. “Perhaps. At the start.”

He nods, because it’s the only thing he can do, “Well, it’s good to know I have my uses.”

“Roman, neither of us are children. If you think I don’t care for you, you’re wrong. But as I say, it didn’t entirely start there, for most of your life you’ve been an annoying little prick I’m sad to say. But every now and then there was a glimmer of some potential. So yes, did I think you were worth backing? Worth giving my time to in order to try and improve your chances in the line of succession? Of course. But did I expect for us to form this deep connection, no. This is an entirely personal, private thing now, and it’s surprised me how… I feel blindsided by it, that’s all, and that surprises me, and not much surprises me these days.” She chewed her bottom lip, “Your shot.”

He glanced to the table, tried to identify a clean shot. “The mindfuck of it all,” he said, “there’s nothing I can give you. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” she leant her cue against the wall, went to the table to refill their wine glasses. “You date women of lower social standing – hookers, single mothers – it’s obvious then what they need. Money equals security. My view…” she sipped her wine, “ah, but you didn’t want me to try and solve you.”

He whacked his ball then threw his cue on the table. “Go on. Fix me.”

“You can keep them, hold onto them. I think that you think it’s what you should do, find some pretty vacant girl.” She breathed deeply, unsure as to how far she should push this. “I think it’s another way to impress your father.”

He took his wine from her, drank half of it back.

“By finding the theoretically ‘perfect’ future wife, you’re doing what he wants. You appear… normal, to some extent.”

“And I’m not?”

She ran her index finger beneath his chin, “You’re not turned on by normal. Bland. You wouldn’t settle, even if you married.”

“You never judge.”

“I’m not here to.” She put her glass down. “Roman I think there’s very little I don’t know about you, but I’m still here, I don’t see bits of good and bits of bad and bits that are a bit fucking twisted. Just you. I am nothing if not complicated in return, I don’t expect you to solve me and I suspect I’ll never fully solve you. But I do rather like you, despite myself, in spite of myself, one of those.”

“You’re…” he didn’t know how to finish so grabbed her instead, pressing his mouth to hers. “I like you too.” He settled on.

“Let’s rack up another game,” she said, already moving to the table. “I’ll teach you some tricks.”

“You’ve got moves.” He pointed at her with his pool cue before tossing it back and forth between his hands.

“Moves?”

“Don’t be coy. Moves, yes, true moves. You boob nudged me in Japan for a start.”

“I what the fuck what?”

"Boob. Nudged. Me. And don't act like it’s all innocent ooh whoopsie daisy Mary fucking Poppins. You had moves. You wanted my attention."

“I can tell you now I have never deliberately ‘boob nudged’ you.”

“You fucking did –,”

“I did not.”

“You did. I wanked over it for a week.”

“Pig.”

“Nothing to be ashamed about, I’m more direct as you know, if I wanna fuck you I say it, you do the more gently, gently flirt thing. I get it.”

“No offence but you’re about as direct as a blind pigeon that’s been hit by a 747.”

She flicked the cue and her ball flew across the table and straight into the pocket.

“How’d you know how to play pool?”

“I grew up with brothers. Come over here and I’ll show you.”

“Not gonna try and press your breast against me are you, try to seduce me.”

“Not right now, no. But bend over the table.”

“Tramp.”

She stood behind him, held his hand, pointed out the angle and the speed needed for the shot. He hit the ball. It circled the pocket but went in.

“You’re amazing,” he said.

“Well, I have some talents.” He turned around whilst she was still leaning against his back, and when he faced her his nose nudged hers. “You made me laugh.” She admitted. “In Japan. I hadn’t found life that entertaining in a long time, and you made me laugh, you showed me some attention beyond my uses for the company. And I think I was flattered by that. Though I’d…” she breathed deeply, because admitting this made her weak, “…I’d forgotten what it was to feel attractive, and then I’d catch a glimpse of the two of us together in some restaurant window over there and berate myself for being a fucking idiot.”

“Don’t,” he brushes his lips over hers. “This is the closest I’ve got to anything normal that doesn’t make me feel physically sick; you make me feel settled. Calm. I’m not used to that. I don’t look at you, or us together, and think of the differences, I think of how well we fit. On many levels.”

“You’re softening up,” she pinched his waist, “this is not the Roman Roy I know.”

“I think I’m drunk to be honest.”

“Wanna fuck on the pool table, rough it up a bit?”

He lifted her up, turned her round and perched her on the edge, “I might make a better job of it than the actual game of pool.”

She was unzipping his trousers, “I like your balls better, is that what you want to hear?”

He laughed at that, at the expression on her face, joyful and turned-on somehow combined as one. Maybe it was the danger she potentially held, the thrill of the fact she was so close to Waystar, so close to his father, maybe that held some twisted fascination in it. But that was one slither of it all; she cared for him, she mentored him, she listened to him, she guided him and consoled him and built him up and educated him and a hundred other tiny things that made him feel like a speck in her orbit. He wanted to be with her as often as he could. Consume her. Be a part of her life.

She lowers herself back, his hand beneath her spine, legs around his waist and there’s this mental image in her head of how they must look which contrasts greatly with how it feels. The thought of anyone from Waystar seeing them like this makes her feel faint; but the actual reality of him pushing up her top to press kisses to her stomach – the feel of that, is incomparable.

She pushes her fingers through his hair, feels him rocking against her, mouth cupping her nipple through her bra.

And then there’s the noise of the intercom and he looks up at her, a grin on his face, hooded eyes.

“Dessert?”

*

He’s lying naked at the side of the hot tub, the small square roman-bath style tub that sits outside their bedroom doors. She’s wallowing in it, floating around leisurely as he occasionally feeds her strawberries.

“I feel like Cleopatra,” she says, licking the chocolate from her lips. “Did she do this, you think?”

“Wasn’t it in milk?”

“Can you imagine the stench. Christ.”

“Come here, my Queen, let me adore you.”

She’s laughing at his expression as he falls onto his back, posing like some ancient statue as he dangles a strawberry in the air.

“Oh god, I’m going to have to work very hard over the coming weeks to make up for this.” She snatches it from him, leans on the edge of the tub as she eats it, “What about you?”

“Having to work hard?”

“Hell would have had to freeze over, right?”

“Well, according to my phone it is very cold in New York now.”

Smirking, she dips her fingers into the chocolate, dangles them over his mouth, his eyes full of mischief as he stares up at her waiting. “Open…” he does as she requests, lets her dip her fingers into his mouth, stares at her as he sucks the chocolate off.

“That’s indecent.” She whispers, then kisses him. “You getting in here?”

“You know the heat isn’t meant to be good for erections.”

She pouted, sliding away from him, “Are you worried your poor little dick is going to shrivel up and drop off.”

“Every boy’s nightmare.” But he jumps to his feet, “Hang on, got an idea.”

He’s back in seconds, a bottle of vodka, ice and glasses.

“Ohhh fuck, don’t do that, we’ve got to fly home tomorrow.”

He slips into the water, “Sleep it off on the plane.”

“I don’t think I can hold my alcohol the way I used to.” But she takes the glasses from him, watches as he drops ice in, pours the vodka.

“Right, a toast, to… a fucking glorious night.” He knocked his glass against hers, “1, 2, 3… go!”

“Ohh but that’s good,” she said, holding her glass out as he refilled it.

“Your turn to toast.”

“Erm, to not killing each other?”

“Yes,” he slammed his glass against hers, hitting her knuckles as he did so, “and to still be fucking on the last day.”

“Absolutely. Fucking not killing!”

“1, 2, 3…!”

She threw her head back, “Ahh, don’t let me have anymore.”

He drained his glass, tipped the ice into his mouth and smiled at her, walking into her body until she was pressed back against the tub. She was amused as he moved down, almost on his knees, and took her nipple in his mouth, swirling the ice around it.

“Mmm, that’s good too…” she closed her eyes, relaxed into the moment. The glass still in her hand, body going limp against his. “Roman…”

“Hmm?”

“I wanted to say, whilst I’m quite drunk and feeling a bit high –,”

“You want to get high?”

“No, not like that. Just thank you, for making me get away, I’ve not felt so relaxed in…” She moaned as his fingers moved between her legs.

“I’m such a swell guy,” he said, lifting her, hands on her bottom.

He teased her mouth with his, trailing feather-light kisses until she was giggling and pushing against him.

“You are.” She said. “Genuinely, you are.” Then she kissed him properly, pushing the glass onto the side so she could hold him with both hands, touch him, feel him.

“I think I might miss you next week,” he said.

“You might?”

“Mm, I might…” His kisses were hot, voice thick and velvety by her ear. “You make me happy.”

Her heart pounded, overwhelmed, silenced by him and his words and his mouth on hers. She kept thinking of her ridiculous statement but two weeks earlier about it being casual. This was the most important relationship she’d had since her husband, the most intoxicating fascinating thing in her life for years.

“Let’s go to bed,” he said, tugging on her hand.

He kissed her all the way to it. Gentle. Desperate. Longing. It was like being worshipped and whereas somewhere her brain was telling her to remain sensible, knowing, the other side was slipping into something too wonderful and delicious for her to resist. Like drowning.

His body over hers, moving surely, mouth covering every inch of her. It was a far cry from the man who had been averse to the very idea months earlier. How far they’d come since that trip to Japan. How far they’d come in the past two weeks.

His hand slid up and over her arm, fingers sliding between hers, holding her tight against him.

“Gerri…” he breathed against her neck, rocking against her, sliding inside her – slowly, taking his time, committing every movement to memory because it would likely be a while until they were in a place like this again, with a mood like this again. He was starting to find it hard to imagine not seeing her every night. Feeling the slow, slick heat of her surrounding him.

It hadn’t been like that before. Not with her. Not for him ever.

There was an element of fear buried within it; if she asked him for his soul at that moment he would commit to it as long as he never had to stop making love to her.

*

The darkness of the room seemed to cling to their bodies, legs tangled together, heads side-by-side on the pillows. His face buried in her hair, whispered words and laughter and hands tracing over the other’s skin.

“I think I’ll get a pool table,” he said, pressing his lips to her neck.

“A-ha, you think it’ll make me come over more?”

“You can come over any time you like…”

“Oh?”

“…On the condition you teach me how to play pool, trick Tom and take him for a small fortune.”

“Deal.”

“Is there such a thing as couples pool?”

“I don’t think so,” she laughed. “Unless it’s code for some all-in-sex-party thing.”

He squeezed her body against his, “Not going to share you.”

She smiled at that, though he couldn’t see in the dark.

“We’d have to be a couple to take part anyhow, in couples pool.”

“That we would.”

They laid silent for a while, she felt exhausted but unwilling to sleep. She tried to entertain herself with thoughts of being back in her own bed and her own routine and all the things she loved about her sharp, well-manicured life. It was of little comfort.

“Date then, when I get back from DC?”

“How long you gone?” She asked sleepily.

“The week, I’ll come back Friday night and then fly out again after the weekend.”

“Alright.”

“So, a date, Saturday?”

“A public date?”

“Yeah,” he turned his face to hers, “a very public date.”

He briefly captured her mouth with his, felt his pulse vibrating through his body.

“Alright. A very public date.”

“A request…”

“Go.”

“Wear that red dress.”

She breathed deeply, sighed at the memory of the last time she wore it. “Depends where you take me.”


End file.
